A Quarter South
by KLMeri
Summary: There's something strange about the prince's new bodyguards. K/S/M. - COMPLETE
1. Part One

**Title**: A Quarter South (1/3)  
**Author**: klmeri  
**Fandom**: Star Trek AOS  
**Pairing**: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy  
**Summary**: AU; there's something strange about the prince's new bodyguards.  
**A/N**: Written in response to this prompt from **fuckyeahmcspirk**: _Bodyguard Trope: in which Prince McCoy naturally has two bodyguards named Jim and Spock_.

* * *

The king introduced two strangers to his heir-apparent thus: "These men can protect you. This one is strong—" A bejeweled hand indicated the tallest first. "—and the other, cunning."

Just looking at them, the prince had his doubts. They seemed a mismatched pair: one straight-backed, the other almost insolently slouched; one with raven's hair and eyes and black clothes of fine quality to match, the other unkempt in every sense with shorn locks which might have been burnished gold if they weren't dirt-streaked and a weapon's belt half-buckled and boots which had seen mud too recently.

Leonard said nothing of his opinion, however; he had long since learned that to gainsay his stepfather in public had its consequences. After inclining his head in deference, he averted his eyes so as not to stare openly at the men.

"They come from afar but have proven their skill in battle. Henceforth they shall be your bodyguards!"

Leonard's sense of foreboding lent the decree an ominous echo in his head. Why should he need personal guards now? Was the regular troop inept? Was there a new danger of which he did not know? In the prince's opinion, disease was more of an enemy in this small kingdom than a greedy neighbor.

He shook away his morbid musings to find the king staring at him with clear expectation. The prince cleared his throat and executed the proper bow of one high-ranking court member to another. Then he murmured his thanks for the gift and left the drafty hall at a pace which was swift-footed but not quite running.

Unfortunately, two new shadows trailed after him.

* * *

Cunning sat in the corner by the door, picking at the grime under his fingernails with a short blade. Leonard was both fascinated and disgusted by this.

"I don't think my stepfather is paying you to groom yourself," he pointed out, rustling the pages of parchment in his hand.

The guardsman hummed for a moment, then answered. "Better to have a knife in my hand if you're attacked, sire."

"...Attacked?" Leonard made a broad gesture at the room, empty save for the other bodyguard who was so quiet he might as well not have been present at all. "By whom?"

The man shrugged and shifted on his stool, then stretched out a leg in front of him.

How he managed to look twice as bored as he had previously, Leonard did not know.

Sighing and muttering things about absurdity and kings, the prince returned his attention to his work. He had finished the drawing of an herb he had lately discovered growing near the castle walls. Below the drawing he began to make notations of its medicinal properties as well as the danger it posed if ingested improperly.

Time passed without his being aware of it as it always did while he worked. The light of early afternoon had given way to a deep dusk. When Leonard could no longer see well enough to write, he lit a candle and rolled the papers together, tucking them under his arm. The solitary window of the chamber overlooked the busy complex of rooftops, arches, turrets and parapet walls which made up the castle. By day they were dusty grey and unappealing; now, however, the picture they made was beautiful.

At last Leonard turned away from the view. In the dim lighting, one guard stood like a sentinel by the door, his face no more animated than it had been at their initial introduction. It also seemed, Leonard determined, that the man's gaze had not ventured from the wall opposite him since he took up his post.

This unnerved the prince as much as it comforted him, for while he did not foresee the need to employ someone in the dual role of protector and entertainer, he preferred company with a little spirit.

The other bodyguard had fallen asleep during the long hours of dull activity, head hanging low so that his chin almost touched his chest plate. He was snoring, and the small knife had at some point fallen from nerveless fingers to the floor.

Leonard took great pleasure in kicking the man's boot.

The fool woke up with a snort and nearly toppled off his stool.

"You do your job well," the prince remarked, then left the room at a speed which would require the man to scramble in order to catch up to him.

* * *

It was not uncommon for the prince to be woken in the middle of the night for an emergency. Of course, where in the past a young, frantic page would have burst into his sleeping chamber, this time his awakener met a rather different fate just outside the prince's door.

Startled to awareness by high-pitched squeals of pain, Leonard donned a robe and hurried to investigate.

"What's going on?" he shouted as he threw open his door.

"Sire!" a familiar but muffled voice begged. "Sire, spare me!"

Leonard stared in horror at the scene in the dark hallway: Geoffrey (for that voice could belong to none other than his apprentice) was suspended in the air upside down. The tall guard held the young man aloft by his leg one-handed while the other guard, sitting on his haunches, prodded at Geoffrey's cloak-covered head with the sharp end of his knife.

"What in blazes are you doing!" cried the prince. "Stop that!"

One of his bodyguards glanced his way. "He was trying to get into your room."

"Oh, for the sake of all that's holy, he's not a rat! _Drop him right now!_"

The other man took Leonard's meaning too literally. Geoffrey landed on his hand.

Leonard shouldered the men aside with "Move, you goatish clod brains! Geoffrey? Geoffrey, are you all right?"

The prince's apprentice groaned once he was rolled over onto his back.

After a quick examination of the young man's head and neck, Leonard helped Geoffrey sit up and asked him again how he felt.

"Nay, sire," Geoffrey said, not looking him in the eyes. "I am fine. Twas my mistake to—"

Leonard interrupted him, his agitation having returned anew. "Never you mind, Geoffrey. These fools will not harm you again." He asserted this in such a tone that only the deaf would have missed the threat.

Geoffrey suddenly snapped to attention. "Sire, the babe—it comes!"

"Then we must be quick," Leonard declared, coming to his feet.

And off they went, the prince and his apprentice. Leonard did not spare a thought for the men once again following at his back.

* * *

The bodyguards made themselves known when Leonard tried to enter a room in a deserted area of the castle without them.

"You will want to remain in the antechamber," Leonard warned them.

"That's not what we're paid to do."

One guard pushed ahead of Leonard and seemed on the verge of making some insufferable speech when a wail cut across the room.

The man's hand automatically went to his belt and the dagger there.

Leonard huffed. "There will be no violence in this chamber. Only women are here."

"The least suspicious can be the most deadly," the guard argued back in a low tone.

"Not this night," said the prince just as a woman shrouded by curtains around the bed gave a low moan of pain.

One of the lady's maids swept past them with a bowl of steaming water and placed it on the table nearest the bed. Leonard went towards it, his stubborn bodyguard dogging his heels.

"Go away," he ordered.

"I cannot, sire. Where you are, I am duty-bound to follow—even if you feel you must remain... here." There came a pause. Then, in a curious tone, he asked, "Is it yours?"

Leonard stripped off his outer robe and rolled up the long sleeves of his night shirt. "No," he replied, and began cleaning his arms with the scolding water.

The guard looked from him to the bowl of water to the figure on the bed and back again before a light finally dawned in his eyes.

"You... you're..." He was aghast from his revelation.

"Going to assist this woman in giving birth? Why yes I am," Leonard confirmed readily. "Since you're so damned adamant about staying next to me, you'll be helping too."

The man paled.

When the woman's moaning turned into a breathless scream, he paled further and scuttled backwards until he nearly fell into an open wardrobe.

Leonard hmphed and looked to the other bodyguard, who had not left the doorway as his partner so foolishly had done.

"What of you?" he demanded. "Are you as pigeon-liver'd as your arms-brother?"

"Hey!" the protest could be heard from among a pile of lady's undergarments.

The tall guard bowed slightly but did not answer the question. Instead he removed himself to the antechamber. The door did remain partially open in his wake, Leonard noticed.

The prince left the other guard to figure out an escape on his own and turned to the task at hand.

The baby was born healthy.

* * *

"You have odd interests," Leonard was told the following day.

"And you are wont to express your opinion even though none was asked of you," the prince retorted. As he finished with the intricate lacing of his knee-high boots, he cast a glance in the mirror to inspect the blue-eyed man leaning against the far wall. "Also, I do not recall inviting you into my chambers, guardsman."

The man grinned at him. "I have a name."

"Is it Needs A Wash?"

"Only if you're offering to bathe me."

Leonard choked on a laugh. So, this one was a flirt. After stamping his foot to make certain the boot was settled and did not pinch, the prince stood up. "You must think yourself cunning indeed. I am going to breakfast now. I suppose you are my escort."

The guard pushed off the wall to take the lead but, to Leonard's surprise, he halted by the doorway. "Jim," he said. "That's my name."

"Hello, Jim. You can just call me Prince."

"Ah, so you're a traditionalist."

"I _am_ a prince, Jim." Leonard brushed past him. "But if by chance we are not in the presence of the rest of the court—especially my stepfather, you understand—you could call me Leonard and I might, _might_," he stressed, "respond."

"Good to know!" the man called after him.

It took a moment of walking in silence for Leonard to realize the other guard had not offered a friendly monosyllable, let alone a name, during his conversation with Jim.

Could he trust that one? he had to wonder. And could he trust someone as open as Jim?

Because Leonard was a practical man, it would not shock him in the least if one or both of his bodyguards had a secondary motive for following him each day. He knew his stepfather was a paranoid and somewhat secretive man.

Leonard decided then out of the old habit of being ornery to give these two men something worth reporting to the king.

* * *

"Does he ride?" the prince inquired later in the afternoon, tipping his head to indicate the tall, thin figure in black standing at the fence to the stable-yard.

"Better than me," Jim replied cheerfully as he tugged at random at the reins of his mare.

That was likely true, Leonard surmised, eyeing the seat of his bodyguard on the horse. "How is it you are excellent in battle if you cannot stay on a horse?"

"It isn't my fault horses don't like me. Spock!" the guard cried, twisting around in the saddle, "Would you decide already? The prince grows impatient!"

Leonard flushed.

The man in black lifted a hand—and a horse moved away from the herd as if beckoned.

Jim, who may have claimed not to be the friend of any equine, made a noise of appreciation at the stallion trotting towards his partner.

Leonard drew in an apprehensive breath. "We call that one Demon. Jim, I don't think it's a good idea for—" He bit off his comment when Spock suddenly leapt the fence and seated himself upon the stallion's back without assistance or any tack.

"Great," Jim said and urged his mare forward. "We're ready. Where to, sire?"

Leonard turned his horse toward the lower town. "A place," he spoke, albeit somewhat grimly, "where there is drink."

* * *

Despite having been absent for several years, the prince recognized the tavern when he walked in: the painted plaster above the mantelpiece depicted the remnants of a battalion returning home from war, a banner with his kingdom's crest curled long and thin over their heads. In the main room, there was the familiar crush of dark clothes, the overwhelming smell of horse and leather. Some of the occupants were laughing; others deep in debate over politics or warfare strategy which seemed to have little meaning outside a tavern these days.

Leonard sank into a chair at an empty table and removed his gloves. The tavern owner immediately came to greet him, dragging a busty young woman in his wake. She kept her eyes downcast.

There had been a time, he remembered vaguely, when he had spent his evenings floating between ale-houses, not much caring where he was or where he went, sometimes accompanied by young nobles, sons of dissipated courtiers and cousins of confusing degree. His youth misspent, his stepfather always reminded him. Leonard's listless ways could have been the end of him.

Could have been.

Leonard was not that same careless person now. He made certain of it.

At that thought, he almost saw her face. This young girl looked much like her, even as hidden as her expression was, and the prince had to focus his gaze elsewhere for fear someone would mistake the memory in his eyes for desire.

"Wine, Your Majesty?" the owner inquired.

"The house brew," he corrected. Then, with a quick look towards the door, "And some for my men as well."

Expectantly Jim's face brightened upon hearing of this magnanimous gesture. The other man—Spock, if Leonard had heard the name aright—gave no indication if drinking suited him or not.

Leonard called Jim forward to the table, suddenly curious. "Is he mute?"

Jim blinked. "Who?"

"That one. Your partner. He never speaks. I'm asking if he is physically incapable of it."

For some reason, the man smirked. "No, Prince, he is not mute."

Leonard sat back. "So he does not wish to speak me, then."

Jim only said, "He will soon," before his attention was drawn to the girl approaching the table with three tankards of ale.

And, as Leonard predicted, feeling amused, the man put his skill at flirting foolishly to good use. Eventually the girl had her fill of it and threatened to dump the man's drink over his head, thereby causing Leonard to laugh and order a second round.

Finally tuning Jim out and working on his third cup, Leonard's gaze took in everyone near their table, talking at once, passionately and obliviously. Inevitably he found himself watching the silent man by the door, a wraith-like shadow with whom he felt he was becoming quite familiar.

What would be the first thing Spock said to him when he did decide to speak?

The prince sipped at his drink, pondering the possibilities for some time.

* * *

"I am _not_ drunk," the man insisted loudly. "I have been drunk before—miserably drunk—so I would know."

The arm looped across his back supported him across the tavern threshold to the street beyond. The man bearing his weight offered no comment on the matter of a royal prince in an inebriated state. Occasionally however he did grunt when Leonard stepped on his toes.

After some time, Leonard called a halt to their awkward procession (really, Jim was listing more than he was... and how had the idiot gotten so far ahead?) with an imperious lift of his hand. He squinted down the remainder of the alleyway, wondering when they had left the street. "Now where's he goin'?"

Receiving no response, Leonard elbowed his companion until he could break free of his hold and staggered forward. "Ho there! Jim!" he called. The alleyway tilted a little but quickly it righted itself. Leonard blinked.

This was the nebulous edge between day and night, the prince concluded. One should be careful where one goes. Yet, despite this sage advice to himself, he still felt adventurous enough to continue onward and retrieve his wayward guard serenading a street post.

"Jim!" he called a second time, slurring the name a bit. "Guardsman!"

Up ahead, Jim stopped singing and turned around with a grin. "All clear!" he shouted back to them.

Frowning, Leonard started forward again. Was the man expecting he could fight off ruffians in his condition if they happened to be accosted? Truly, the confidence of this fellow knew no bounds!

"Where are the horses?" he wanted to know, drunken mind jumping randomly between thoughts. Then he added with a snort, "I imagine he will attempt to sit backwards on his! You should not have let him indulge in drink, Spock. You should have—"

Pain came unexpectedly, as did the blow from behind which sent him face-first to the ground. Leonard floundered there in the mud for a moment, initially not comprehending what had happened.

His hand found the sore spot at the back of his head. In the periphery of his vision, he saw a set of boots coming towards him quickly.

To his surprise, he heard: "You didn't hit him hard enough."

Leonard managed a weak, shocked protest.

As the voice indicated, it was Jim whose shadow fell across him when the man bent over to meet the prince's wide eyes.

"Sorry about this," Jim said, pulling out his blade, "but we have our orders."

Leonard knew he was going to die and had a moment to regret many, many things.

Then Jim hit him with the hilt of his dagger, and the prince ceased to think completely.

**TBC**


	2. Part Two

Leonard woke up to a pounding head and an awful stench. Someone, he quickly realized, had trussed him up and draped him over the rump of a horse.

That person was going to pay dearly for his crimes, just as soon as Leonard managed to free himself of his bindings. But squirming, it seemed, was a terrible idea in such a precarious position. The prince gave a yelp as he nearly slid off the wrong way.

Up ahead, there came a sharp whistle of command, and the party plodding along the dirt track halted obediently. Leonard's horse stood still for a few seconds before it began to restlessly shift its hind legs, as if ready to be rid of the burden on its back.

Leonard slid a little closer to the ground and let out a string of curses. He was admittedly relieved when he felt a hand grip the back of his clothes and resettle him properly across the horse.

Then he was furious again.

"Knave!" the prince cried, kicking his legs. "What have you done!" The silence which followed and the fact that he was still upside-down only served to infuriate him more. "I demand to be released!"

"He's definitely awake," one of the captors remarked.

"Release me at once!"

"And _angry_."

They thought this funny, did they? Leonard squeezed his eyes shut and fought to rein in his temper. "At the very least," he said through clenched teeth, "take me off this blasted horse."

"I might... If you promise not to run."

"I swear it."

He was pulled backwards and landed with a jarring thud on his feet. Almost immediately Leonard used this change in position to his advantage, cracking the back of his head into the man who was stupid enough to believe he would behave. Then he took off in the direction of the nearest copse of trees.

Leonard expected to get farther than he did, but the guard he knew by the name of Spock suddenly appeared beside him, somehow swifter of foot than Leonard imagined he could be. Then Spock knocked sideways into Leonard and sent the prince sprawling into the tall grass.

Leonard tried kicking him too.

"Desist," the man ordered, his voice even-tempered. He dodged one of the prince's badly aimed kicks, captured a boot, and flipped Leonard over.

"Get off me!"

"If I did not think you were so foolish as to attempt escape again, I would not be forced to sit on you, Prince McCoy."

"Damn you," Leonard said, spitting out grass to the side, "you will pay for this! How dare you treat me this way!"

"I would say I find this sight amusing," Leonard heard a second voice join them, "but my nose hurts too much for me to care. I think you broke it."

"_Good_," insisted Leonard.

"Not good," amended Jim, who dropped into a squat near the prince's head. "You weren't this mean before. What gives?"

For a moment Leonard could not speak, so flabbergasted was he. "You..." he finally found his voice, "you audacious... are you completely wrong in the head?"

"That is entirely possible."

"Shut up, Spock." Jim sat back in the grass, sounding too good-natured for a man who had just been insulted. "You can stop sitting on him now."

Leonard rolled over as soon as the weight of the other man lifted off his back. He sat up, bits of dirt and grass and tiny wildflower petals falling out of his hair.

"See now, don't you feel better? Spock is a lot heavier than he looks."

Leonard grabbed the front of Jim's shirt with his tied hands. "What game is this, you fen-sucked jackanapes?"

"Jackanapes?" Jim mouthed at Spock.

"A colloquial insult, referring to a mischievous, child-like, and often ape-ish individual. Also, fen-sucked implies you lack common sense."

"Which you do," Leonard replied, shaking the man in his grasp. "What business is this you've undertaken, the kidnapping of a crowned prince?! You will be beheaded!"

"First," Jim said, lifting one finger, "I _am_ in the business of kidnapping princes. Secondly, I can only be beheaded if I am caught." His eyes twinkled.

This man obviously thought the world itself was a joke. "Which you will be, you little fool! I am the king's heir. Even if I am returned unharmed, he will send out a hundred troops to track down blackguards such as you and your insolent dog. For this work, he will not stand you to live!"

It was the way in which Jim looked past him and met his accomplice's gaze that sent a chill down Leonard's spine. He released Jim, then, and clambered to his feet, looking about. "Where is this? How far have we come?"

Jim cleared his throat. "I should tell you—"

"I won't hear it," the prince cut in. "I know only this: you have taken me from my home and I must return there. Say no more and allow me to leave. I will forget what you've done." He glanced sidelong at Spock. "Both of you."

Spock's eyes, almost as dark as his hair, contemplated this dispassionately.

Jim's mouth quirked with a slight smile. "I am afraid, dear prince, your leave-taking is not an option we can consider at this time." When Leonard began to protest, the man held up a hand which strangely enough quieted the prince. Then Jim stood up and brushed off the grass from his trousers. "However I can offer you a choice on how we proceed from here. Would you like to walk or to resume your position across the horse?"

Leonard clenched his hands into fists. "That isn't a horse. It's a mule."

Jim did smile then, widely. "So it is. Just the same, I can't let you ride it until I am certain you won't try to take off on your own."

"I see," Leonard said, disgusted, "because whatever your odiferous plan, you cannot afford to lose your best hand."

"You got it. That mule's really important to me."

Jim made a gesture at Spock, then turned away and started across the open field, leaving Leonard to sputter in his absence.

Spock took hold of the prince's elbow. "Walk," he said.

Leonard jerked his arm out of the man's grasp. "Do not touch me, scullion!"

"Rest assured, I have no particular desire to lay hands upon your person other than when I must. Now: will you walk, or shall you be carried?"

Choices—these men kept offering him choices he did not like, nor choices that he should have to suffer; but, even as furious as he was, he knew the time to address them had passed for the moment.

Leonard settled for scowling, and he walked.

* * *

Even born into a royal family given to leisurely pursuits, Leonard was no stranger to hard work. He was however unaccustomed to traveling long distances on foot. After he could have sworn they had journeyed enough miles to carry them to the sea, he said to the mule, "You're tired, aren't you?" and gently coaxed it by the bit towards the shade of a tree.

Almost instantly Jim turned his horse around and followed them to the tree as well. It became an unanimous although unspoken agreement to take a break.

Leonard breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down between two roots and ran his fingers through his hair. He kept an eye on his kidnappers, but neither of them did much of anything of interest. Spock stayed some distance away, not quite presenting his back to them, assuming a position which was suspiciously guard-like in nature. Jim attended the horses, placing feed-bags over their noses and removing a brush from a saddlebag. Leonard watched the man groom the mare first before turning his attention to the mule. To that beast, he talked very sweetly.

"It's likely more halfwit than you are," the prince said. "I doubt it understands a word of your nonsense."

Jim was silent for a moment. Then, "I suppose you would consider a creature such as this too base-court to deserve a little care."

Leonard bristled. "What's that mean?"

Jim patted the mule on the neck and pocketed the brush. "I think you know, Leonard."

Leonard gripped his knees to remind himself not to act foolishly. "You dare to judge me when it is you who misuses _a person?_ Do enlighten me as to the nature of my being here, _against my will_: am I a ransom? Something to be bartered with... or sold?" His gorge rose. "Perhaps you intend to hand me over to the traders in the West for a bit of coin."

Jim paled and flushed in rapid succession. "No. I don't trade in flesh."

"You give me no reason to believe you." Leonard purposefully looked away. "Furthermore I've done nothing to warrant my predicament, and you know it. So how can I not know what you imply? After all, in this scenario, I am the lowly mule."

"There are things beyond your ken, sire."

Leonard huffed softly. "Deference suits you ill, Jim—and at the moment it makes you a liar. I believe I have been deceived enough for one day, don't you?"

He was heartsick now, and he feared he might show it so he said, "Leave me," the command nearly unbidden and too much in keeping with the nature in which he had been raised.

It surprised the prince somewhat, though, that Jim obeyed him.

They set off again when the sun was three-quarters across the sky and a light breeze stirred the warm air.

* * *

"We're almost there," Jim called over his shoulder.

Leonard firmed his jaw and kept his eyes fixed ahead. If he but for a moment given thought to the pain he was feeling, he would never have made it this far. Jim had been eyeing him since he started limping but it would be ridiculously to ask for help. Or to beg to ride the mule. His pride will not allow it.

Perhaps it should have consoled him that he was not the only one who was walking. Although no order had been given, neither Jim nor Spock had mounted their horses since Jim declared the prince had no choice but to go on foot. That didn't console him, however. It simply made him angrier.

What was it that they thought they could convince him of? Their innocence? Their goodness? He had a large lump on the back of his skull to attest to the opposite. It made no difference to him whether these fools thought themselves sly enough to earn a grudging respect or, alternatively, a prince's pity. Leonard knew them for the scoundrels they were.

It was along this vein that he had developed a mantra in his head: he would not show fear; he would not concede dignity; he would not—under any circumstances—beg for reprieve. A McCoy was not a faint-hearted man!

Jim stilled the horses when Leonard stumbled.

"Just a rock," he said through gritted teeth.

It wasn't a rock. He was fairly certain his blisters had started to bleed inside his boots. If he'd known he would need to endure a long day's travel, he would have worn more serviceable footwear.

But he couldn't have predicted this, could he?

The prince straightened. "You said we're almost there. Well," he went on to say impatiently, "why have you stopped?"

The man in the lead only shook his head and tugged the mare into a steady walk again.

* * *

There was a short period of debate in which Leonard pictured tossing himself over the small bridge, but then he saw how shallow the river bed was below it and decided he wasn't quite ready to take his life so soon after all.

"There's been a drought out this way," the annoyingly talkative man up ahead prattled on, "going on nearly a year. Desperate times make for desperate people, so keep an eye out."

Leonard had several sarcastic comebacks for that. Then he caught Spock's eye, who had turned around to level a hard stare at him, and bit his tongue.

Unfortunately, patience was not quite forthcoming. "Are we there yet?"

Jim pointed. "Nearly. Just ahead."

If Leonard squinted, he could see the structure to which the man referred. Suddenly, a new hope began to take hold of him.

People. _Distractions._

This boded well. They may have passed beyond the border of his kingdom, but no doubt it would be a great mistake for his captors to visibly flaunt him in public. He stood out. Of course he did—he was a prince!

Yet that seemed to be exactly what they had planned.

Maybe they were daft after all?

The thought crossed his mind just as they crossed the threshold of the ancient fieldstone inn at the crossroads. Leonard went in anyway, cultivating the pretense that he was much too exhausted to keep his wits about him.

Jim asked the innkeeper for a room. A scattering of faces, most of them solitary travelers, glanced up idly from their ale and beef to listen.

"I do have a room," she said, looking past Jim to the other men. "I have two rooms available, in fact."

But Jim shook his head and smiled slightly. "One will do." He pressed a silver coin into her palm.

The woman pocketed it without checking it first. "It's yours. Sit and have some supper. You look as though you could use it."

"And wine," Leonard added. "Do you have some wine?"

Jim laid a warning hand on Leonard's shoulder. "Never mind the wine, milady. My friend here may have a taste for the finer things but sadly he has no purse for it."

"That's because you've got my purse," the prince muttered.

Jim took his hand from Leonard's shoulder and butted into him conspicuously. "Come along, let's settle ourselves. Spock?"

"I will see to the horses."

"There's a stable in the back," the innkeeper offered.

Spock bowed slightly to her in thanks and left.

Leonard stalled their progress through the main room by insisting on a detour through the kitchens.

Jim frowned at him. "We can have our supper later."

"I don't want food, you dolt, I want medicine. Unless of course you prefer having to cart a man dying of infection across the countryside."

Jim still continued to frown at him.

Leonard gave up trying to explain the finer points of misery and death and headed to the kitchen on his own. It didn't take his captor long to realize he shouldn't let Leonard out of his sight. Much to Leonard's dismay, however, Jim began to question each item the prince asked the innkeeper to supply. Apparently it was in Jim's nature to be tight with the purse strings, no matter whose purse it was.

"What do you need a stone for?"

"To crush herbs for a poultice."

"I thought dried planty bits were for cooking?"

"Not always."

"Okay, but those are daisies."

"This is a type of _chamomilla_. It's an herb too," Leonard amended at Jim's blank look. Then he lied, "To prevent infection."

"Oh. Wait, how do you know if you have one of these so-called infections?"

"The most common symptoms are fever and violent vomiting."

"...But isn't that the plague?"

"Yes, Jim, yes. The plague. We all are going to get the plague and _die_ unless you stop pestering me long enough that I can cure us!"

Finally that shut the idiot up. Leonard finished making the arrangements with the innkeeper and sought out the privacy of their room.

Later, Jim made a face as Leonard went through the agonizing motions of peeling off his boots.

"I guess I see why you want a poultice."

Leonard muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath.

Jim tried again. "You could have told me you wanted to ride."

"You said that wasn't an option," Leonard countered.

The other man grimaced.

"It doesn't matter," the prince sighed, critically eyeing the raw skin and blisters on his feet. "If I'm careful, it'll heal without making me sick. See how I'm not letting the open sores touch the ground? The last thing you want to do is expose broken skin to dirt or feces."

"Because then you get an infection?"

Leonard caught his smile before it showed. "I guess your skull isn't as thick as I thought."

"Thank you," Jim retorted dryly.

Someone knocked on the door. Jim didn't open it right away, instead waited for a series of knocks which followed.

"The horses?" Jim asked Spock as the man stepped inside the room.

"Bring that," Leonard called when he realized Spock was carrying the bowl of water he had requested from the innkeeper.

Spock handed it off to Jim, who set it down on the floor and frowned once again.

"I still don't understand why the water has to be boiling."

"_To prevent infection_," both Leonard and Spock emphasized at the same time.

Leonard gaped at the tall, dark-haired man until he heard Jim laugh. Then the prince snapped his mouth closed and glared.

Spock, who gave the impression of someone that suddenly felt uncomfortable, inclined his head slightly in Jim's direction and withdrew to the doorway.

"Take first supper!" Jim called to the man.

It dawned on Leonard what he meant. "Just where do you think I can go in this condition?"

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "Don't know... but I wouldn't put it past you to try."

Leonard sighed through his nose and ducked his head, pulling the bowl towards him carefully. "I'm too tired to argue the point with you. Can you at least find me a cup?"

"You're going to drink _hot_ water?"

"I plan to make a tea with some of the herbs."

Jim stared at him for a long moment before asking bluntly, "Are you planning to poison us?"

Leonard rolled in his eyes in an un-prince-like manner. "Did I say anything about anyone other than myself drinking it?"

"No..."

"Then quit inventing trouble." He gestured at his feet, which did ache fiercely. "It's to help with the pain as well as the healing."

"Oh."

Jim said nothing more as Leonard worked in silence, first wetting a strip of cloth from his torn doublet which seemed the least dirt-smudged to clean with, then grinding some of his bundled herbs to make a poultice for each foot. He then bound his feet in cloth (which for some reason caused Jim to chuckle) and spent the rest of his time making the tea. He used more of the _chamomilla_ plant than was the designated dose and, when Jim turned away to answer another series of knocks on the door, shoved another kind of herb between his upper gum and teeth, hoping it worked well enough to counteract the drought he was brewing.

Spock spoke in a low tone to Jim but, to Leonard's surprise, Jim did not leave the room immediately. Instead they turned as one to watch Leonard lift the drinking cup to his mouth.

Leonard raised his eyebrows at them and sipped at his homemade tea. "Mmm," he said a moment later. "Not too bad. I generally like it with a little honey, though."

Jim's gaze briefly turned down to his own feet before he approached Leonard. "Is there enough to share?"

Leonard cradled the cup to his chest. "Why would I?"

"Because according to you I'm going to get the plague through my feet and die."

"It could definitely happen," the prince agreed.

"Jim," Spock murmured.

Jim held out his hand.

Leonard let him have it, remarking, "Don't say I never did anything nice for you." He watched, heart dancing a little in his chest, as Jim raised the cup to his mouth.

But Spock intervened, taking it away. "_Jim_," he said again, a clear chastisement.

"It's to prevent death," Jim argued.

The two men stared at each other for too long. Then Spock drank from the cup and returned it to his partner.

Jim watched him for some seconds, seemed satisfied when Spock did not immediately expire, and drank as well.

_Good_, Leonard thought. _Very good._

* * *

Spock had taken up guard duty in Jim's absence. He was a lot less garrulous, which Leonard appreciated. Leonard arranged himself on the pallet of straw (trying hard not to think about the tiny things that probably lived in the straw) which served as a bed and waited for the effects of the tea and its counteragent to war with one another. He knew it wouldn't make him feel the best, but just then that didn't matter. He had to free himself of this ridiculous situation.

He had somehow managed to doze lightly when Jim came back, apparently having had his fill of the inn's tavern. He swayed a little on his feet as if tired, patted Spock's shoulder blindly, saying something like "it's okay to rest". As far as Leonard could tell, Spock made himself vanish from the room as quietly as a ghost.

Then Jim clomped across the thresh-strewn floor and slipped into bed with Leonard.

That shocked Leonard to wakefulness. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Making myself comfortable? Yeah, that sounds right," Jim yawned. "I ate, I drank, I pissed, and now I'm going to sleep."

"Not with me, you aren't!"

Jim's mouth developed that almost-smile of his Leonard was becoming accustomed to. He lowered his eyelashes. "You needn't worry, your Majesty. Your virtue shall remain intact." The grin was evident in Jim's voice. "I swear it."

"Your fleas are more concerning to me than the threat you think you pose to my virtue." Leonard wrinkled his nose. "Also your body odor. That _greatly_ concerns me."

Jim scratched at the underside of his chin, as if to say _fleas? body odor? whatever do you mean?_

Leonard made a very displeased noise.

"Maybe you could imagine I smell like roses."

"Clearly you've never smelled roses."

"You are very sarcastic for a comely prince."

"And you're very annoying. Are you from a family of gnats?"

Jim laughed. "Would that I could trade barbs as sharp as yours, McCoy!"

Hearing his family name had the effect of souring the mood for Leonard. He chastised himself for failing to remember just who this bricon was with whom he conversed on an almost friendly level. He smoothed his expression and decided to say nothing, relegating Jim to the edge of the narrow bed with his elbow. Then he fidgeted with the moth-eaten coverlet and made as if to lay himself down.

Jim seemed to see through his pretense but made no comment on it. The man removed his boots before adjusting the slope of the wide belt about his waist. He laid a hand over the dagger there, idly dragging his thumb back and forth across its carved hilt.

Leonard felt chilled at the sight of it. "Is that necessary?"

"This thing?" Jim sounded surprised at the question. "Who would be dim-witted enough to sleep without one?"

"I would," Leonard said, glad the dim flicker of the candle across the room probably hid the flush to his face. "It's better than waking up to find you've knifed yourself in the middle of the night."

"I see," Jim said, amused. "Are you planning to knife me in the middle of the night?"

Leonard raised his eyebrows. "Shouldn't you at least suspect me of it?"

"I sleep lightly. You would never take it off me in time before I turned it on you."

"How comforting. Am I also to assume if I somehow managed to make it past you, I would then have to contend with Spock?"

Jim lost his amusement. "You should never test him that way. He is not as forgiving as I am."

"You mean he would kill me in an instant."

"Yes."

"Then he is as heathen as he looks."

"He's loyal," Jim snapped suddenly.

Leonard lowered his voice. "In other words he never questions your schemes, as culvert as they may be. Don't delude yourself for a moment that I pity either of you. You made the decision to do this to me. You acted heinously. If it is forgiveness you are seeking, I tell you now I shan't grant it!"

As Jim's face grew white—not with fear but with restrained anger—Leonard knew he had pushed too far. It surprised the prince not at all when Jim pulled the dagger free of its sheath and laid the flat of the blade to his throat.

"Do you think yourself a righteous man, whereas I am not?" Jim demanded. "That you are destined to have a kingdom and I, to have shame? How little you know about this world!" he laughed, the sound ugly. "You look at me and see a lowborn man. A disgrace and a cheat. Of course you do. But let me tell you what I see when I look at you, Leonard McCoy: I see a man too cloistered and too blind in his arrogance to acknowledge the truth of his very dire situation."

Leonard heard the thunder of his own heart in his ears. He had the sudden desperate urge to ask the man to stop speaking.

But Jim did not relent. He pressed on the skin of Leonard's throat until the blade made a white line. "Your truth is much worse than mine, because this knife is my work, and this was my order."

It was difficult to find the breath to speak. "...You're a mercenary?"

Jim gave him a mirthless smile. "The worst kind. I was paid handsomely to end you. Except, I didn't."

The prince's throat worked for a moment. "Why?"

The pressure of the dagger eased up somewhat. "Because of the woman and the child," Jim replied, his expression for once unreadable. "You surprised me, so I changed my mind. I _saved _you."

Leonard's fear was pushed aside by a flare of white-hot anger. "And now I should be grateful? All because you appreciated that I wasn't the conceited, backwards ass I was supposed to be? Pig shit! No one judges a man that quickly."

Jim's blue eyes flashed. "Oh, really? How quickly did you judge me?"

Leonard lifted a hand and curled it around the hand holding the dagger. "I don't want to play your games, Jim." He shifted the angle of the blade. "It'd be most effective if you cut just under the left ear."

For a long moment, their eyes held.

Then Jim grinned and lowered his weapon. "You're still surprising me. Good for you."

Nerves still afire, Leonard scooted closer to the wall next to the tiny straw bed and laid down with his back to his bed companion, signaling an end to their conversation. His voice and face didn't show it, but hearing the confession that he was supposed to die _had_ upset him. He'd done nothing to deserve that fate. Nothing.

"Hey?"

"Shut up. Go to sleep," the prince groused too roughly.

Jim didn't say anything else for a long while, long enough that Leonard thought he might have actually have fallen asleep. The quiet around them lulled Leonard into believing he was finally alone with his tumultuous thoughts—finally alone enough to grieve for what was happening to him.

Then Jim's voice came out of the dark, so much softer than Leonard had ever heard it. "I shouldn't have lost my temper, I'm sorry. I... I know what it's like."

_Do you?_ Leonard thought, then opened his eyes, surprised at his own bitterness.

The prince's bedmate sighed and seemed to sink into the mattress all-at-once, his voice trailing off. "...like to be betrayed by someone you believed in."

Leonard closed his eyes again and pressed his mouth flat. _Just go to sleep_, he wanted to say.

"That's why I really saved you," Jim concluded, then paused. "Good night, Prince."

Leonard wanted to hate Jim in that moment. It was disappointing to him that he could not.

* * *

As usual during the day, he sat in his chambers, surrounded by books and papers, accounts, requests, letters from distant lands, sealed notes from the king. He had been schooled most of his life in matters of state and diplomacy. At first he was eager to learn these things; but that seemed long, long ago now. He could scarcely remember the young, eager face he had worn during his lessons. Something had changed in him the older he grew. His interest in his birthright became less and less. It was not that the kingdom itself held little importance, only that he had begun to realize he did not have the temperament or the desire to rule it.

He confessed to his mother, the queen, of this once in confidence. She sympathized with him, saying that he was young yet but if indeed his heart did not belong in one place, he had to seek it in another. So he tried exactly that for a while, believing her to be wise in her advice.

Then she died, and all of the power of the kingdom fell into his stepfather's hands. It seemed like a boon at the time, a great relief to the prince, that he was not required to take up his duty just yet. Maybe there was still time to regain something of his old enthusiasm in honor of his mother and the family legacy, he finally convinced himself.

_Worry not_, his stepfather assured him, speaking just as his mother would have. _I will rule until you are ready for the throne._

A lie, Leonard thought now, clutching his head in his hands. All of it—a terrible lie!

A wind swept in from the balcony and scattered his work at his feet. It carried the sound of his mother crying his name.

He woke with a start.

It took the prince a moment to remember why his surroundings held nothing of the familiarity of the castle—and why his legs were stiff and cramped. He began to stretch them out, then stopped abruptly, recalling Jim.

The man next to him did not stir.

Leonard lifted a hand and lowered it over Jim's face. Moist air hit his palm.

So, the man hadn't died then.

He had the sudden giddy sensation of hope.

"Jim?" he whispered in the dark. "Jim?"

No answer.

Drawing a hushed breath, Leonard shifted on the prickly mattress, observing the sleeping man for a moment, and reached for the knife tucked away in Jim's belt.

His hope turned to elation when Jim did not react as he promised he would. Leonard removed the knife and crawled over the man.

The tea had worked. It _had_ worked!

He winced when he placed his weight on his sore feet but refused to let the pain deter him. He had to unbind some of the wrappings in order to put back on his boots but it was good that the swelling was down and none of the blisters wept. Ignoring his pain, he crept to the other side of the room.

_Don't let that mongrel be awake,_ Leonard prayed. _Please don't._

He cracked open the door, ready with an excuse to have need of the privy if Spock jumped out of the shadows at him.

But once again, nothing happened. Leonard discovered his second captor propped up next to the door. The man hardly made a sound as he slept—even standing up—eyes closed, mouth slightly ajar.

Leonard had the childish urge to tip Spock over. He managed to curtail it and did the more sensible thing: he ran.

* * *

**You realize I'm just making this up in the most ridiculous fashion as I go along, right?**


	3. Part Three

**It looks like this is going to be longer than expected. After all, am I supposed to end this before we have hints of mcspirk? I don't think so! But I do apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.**

* * *

Demon was the fastest horse; but to the prince's great misfortune, it also seemed Demon had been bewitched by Kirk's odious dog. The stallion literally would not stand for another rider to mount him. He tried kicking Leonard in the teeth for his trouble.

"_That varlet_," the prince seethed as he rubbed at his bruised skin. He would repay Spock ten-fold for his sorcerous ways!

He took the mare instead. She, at least, seemed to have no particular allegiance to the scoundrels currently drowsing within the inn. Barely able to resist kissing the top of the horse's head for not rejecting him, Leonard coaxed her out of the low-roofed stable and into the cobblestone courtyard. There they turned in the direction of the bridge.

He bit into his bottom lip, knowing in his heart that his options were limited. If he returned home, he would have to pretend he knew nothing of the circumstances behind his kidnapping. Furthermore, he would have to act ignorant of his stepfather's duplicitous nature.

And his stepfather would never believe it of him.

Who, then, would be hired to end Leonard's life next?

On the other hand, he could always appeal to one of the neighboring kingdoms for sanctuary; unfortunately that would also serve as a declaration of war against his own king, and the people—not the man—would suffer for it.

No, there was nowhere to go but onward, following the path set before him by two men he felt he could not trust. He had no idea where they had intended to take him before his escape, and he didn't care. He would decide his own fate now rather than live at their mercy.

The grim-faced prince fixed his gaze on the road leading south and softly, calmly, urged the mare to take it.

She was content to obey him and he, never more grateful to have someone on his side.

* * *

They traveled under the sleepy eye of the moon and until the sun reached the center of the sky before the prince's ill fortune caught up to him. He had hardly intended to stop his journey toward the coastline so soon but fate saw to it that he did when his mare developed a lameness. One of her shoes, of a suspiciously ill-fit, had loosened to the point of nearly detaching from the hoof. Upon inspecting the remaining hooves, he discovered the other horseshoes fared little better. It infuriated him that someone could pay so little attention and have so little skill that a horse from a king's stable would be shoed improperly.

He only hoped her lameness was not an indication of pain.

He did not mount her again and instead led her towards the tiny pinpoint of a village beyond the hills in hopes that he could quickly locate a farrier to replace the shoes. Only at the halfway mark to the valley did it occur to Leonard he had no coin for payment of such services.

"We'll figure it out," he promised the mare, thinking briefly of the small gold brooch which had been the clasp of his finely made cloak. What had happened to that cloak he had no idea. His captors had likely left it behind in the alleyway since it bore the coat of arms of his kingdom and could have identified him as a lord of significant rank.

He wished now he had had sense enough to look for the purse Jim had pilfered from him; escape had been foremost on his mind then, which served him little now.

The prince sighed in resignation and continued the descent.

* * *

What at a distance seemed a village was in fact an estate. Not the seat of a kingdom, Leonard determined upon closer inspection, but perhaps the summer home of the royal family who ruled this countryside. The town, appearing small in size, was closely packed around the estate itself and, to Leonard's surprise, was also heavily populated. He had no trouble navigating to its central market, for an exuberant flow of people practically carried him there.

The prince felt both at home and apprehensive in the crowded thoroughfare. He knew he had the air of stranger, not just in his dusty clothes or tired countenance but in the way his eyes darted hither-and-fro and his mare, although obviously lame, acted ill-at-ease like her master.

But he could not help himself: he had the uncanny sense he was being followed. Twice the prince stopped and turned around to peruse the people at his back, and twice he was disappointed.

They couldn't have caught up to him so quickly unless they had stolen an extra horse and ridden hard to catch him. Surely they would have assumed he had fled back to his people, thinking he could deal with his stepfather on his own terms.

No, Leonard figured he was only paranoid, having not yet put enough distance between himself and his kidnappers to believe he was safe from them.

Besides, he had more pressing problems and one of them right by his side.

Even as he quickened his pace through the busy street, the mare slowed with each step. She was limping very badly.

"C'mon, gal," he tried coaxing her. "I know it hurts, and I'm so sorry. Just a bit farther."

Catching someone by the sleeve, he asked after the local blacksmith. The man gave him an abrupt gesture in one direction before pulling out of his grasp with a harried noise and disappearing back into the mung.

Leonard's mouth formed a thin line as he rubbed soothingly at the mare's neck where sweat had dampened her coat. They slipped off the main street to a narrower one.

He was at the point of shouting at random _would someone just please direct him to the nearest horseshoer?_ when he caught sight of the blacksmith's sign. Drawing nearer, he heard the distinct sounds of hammer on metal among the chatter of the street sellers. Relief washed over him.

The air around the shop was sweltering hot and, as Leonard tied the reins of the mare to a standing post, a youth bearing smudges of black soot came out to greet him.

"She's gone lame," he told the boy.

The young man nodded wordlessly and slipped back inside. A moment later, a burlier man—evidently the smithy—stepped into the street, wiping his hands on a rag. His assessing look took in Leonard and the mare at the same time. "Good day, milord."

Leonard returned the greeting, then cleared his throat. "I need this horse looked at."

"Threw a shoe, did she?" The blacksmith moved around Leonard and picked up one of her forelegs.

"Almost," replied the prince. "I'm afraid it was set wrong."

"Sized wrong, too." The man pressed on different parts of the hoof.

The mare jerked and whinnied.

Leonard tried to soothe her, voicing his fear. "Has there been a puncture?"

"Afraid it seems so. There's some swelling. If it gets any worse, it may need to be lanced." The man lowered the hoof gently to the ground and eyed Leonard. "It'd be better if you left her stabled a few days. Once she's on the mend, she can be shod... unless you've a need of her now." He shrugged. "Not my decision, 'course."

Leonard released a breath and flushed, hating what he was about to admit. "I wish I could but... I don't have the funds at the moment."

The man shrugged again. "I'll need half up front, and the rest when I'm done. How you earn the coin is your business."

Leonard didn't know that he could.

He made to protest but the blacksmith just patted the mare on the shoulder and said, "I'll stable her one night. If you don't turn up in the morn... she's mine. Fair enough?"

It was a risk.

Leonard decided to take it. He extended his hand, and they shook to acknowledge the deal. Giving the mare a final quiet murmur of comfort, he turned away and headed back to the market.

There had to be some way to earn enough for the payment.

* * *

First he tried selling his boots.

"They're deerskin!" he argued when the stall-keeper clucked over their muddy state.

"Deerskin or fairy gold, they ain't worth nothing now."

"Then this," Leonard said, thrusting the hilt of Jim's dagger under the man's nose.

The man took it from him. "Eh, I ain't sure." His black eyes gleamed, though, as he ran a thumb along the flat of the blade.

Leonard snatched it back and made as if to tuck it away, saying haughtily, "Never mind. There're other buyers at this market."

"Now, now!" the stall-keeper called, rounding his table to catch a hold of Leonard's sleeve. "Let me see that pigstick again."

They haggled over the price for a while. Leonard had a moment to regret the selling of an object which didn't originally belong to him, but the sum of silver coins he pocketed did ease his mind about the mare. He returned quickly to the blacksmith, paid him the promised half, and went to find a bit of food for himself and, if he was lucky, a place to sleep.

There was a tavern tucked away between a baker's shop and a cobbler which had a dancing flounder on its sign. Leonard puzzled over that for some seconds since the sea was beyond miles of pastureland and a ring of mountains.

For midday the tavern was busy. Leonard took a seat at a table occupied by three laughing men and one older fellow already deep in his cups.

A woman appeared not long after and set a tankard in front of him.

"Dinner too," Leonard told her.

She gave him a curt nod and walked away, skirt swishing.

"Hey there!" said the drunkard to Leonard's right. "A young gentle man! Hum's good 'ere."

"Yes, I can see that," Leonard muttered. He casually leaned in the opposite direction as the smell of the man's breath reached him.

The man was the kind of jolly drunk who enjoyed hearing himself talk. Leonard grimaced and nodded politely at the appropriate parts of the one-sided conversation. He was very grateful for the distraction of eating when his pie arrived.

One of the men at the end of the table leaned forward and winked at Leonard as the prince shoveled food into his mouth, suddenly realizing just how hungry he was.

"He's a dringler," the fellow said, indicating Leonard's self-appointed conversation partner who was currently half-standing in his seat, trying to get the attention of the tavern-owner so he could order another round of brew. "In here morning, noon, and night souring his organs with drink. His wife'll show up 'fore long and drag him home. You from the North?"

Leonard nodded. After a moment, as the men stared at him, he realized they were waiting on him to share news from his travels.

He took a swallow from his tankard and faced them. "Crop season is good."

One of them snorted. "Do we look like the kind to care about the crops? What of that prince?"

Anything else Leonard might have said dried up in his throat. Had word of his disappearance traveled this far, this fast? He shook his head.

They looked disappointed and turned back to talk amongst themselves. Leonard tried not to listen too closely.

The man next to him leaned in, breath somehow sourer than before. "I don't like it neither, all that hen gossip." He raised his eyebrows. "So, you ain't heard?"

"No," Leonard murmured.

"There's this northerner prince set his kingdom on its ear. Took clean off, sudden-like," the man snapped his fingers to show just how quickly he meant. "I say he's dead 'cause that's the way it always is."

Leonard lowered his head and didn't reply. He was nudged by the man's elbow, whose ruddy face bore a new expression. It might have been concern.

"You're a quiet one. What's the matter?"

"I suppose I'm tired," the prince admitted. "Been on the horse all day."

"Ah." It surprised Leonard when the man gave him a shrewd look. "Travelin' lightens the purse too." He pointed across the room. "If it's chinkers you need, there's your table."

Leonard took one look at the unsavory crowd there and their dice and shook his head. "I don't gamble."

"And I don't drink!" The man let out a belly laugh at that, having amused himself.

Though his pie was only half-eaten, Leonard stood up and abandoned it. The woman who had served him came after him as if she thought he was about to walk out without settling his bill, but he waited for her and gave her a grim smile, pressing enough coppers into her hand that more than covered the cost of his hasty meal.

He left the tavern behind without uttering a single word.

* * *

He didn't realize how angry he was until he bumped into a person on accident and nearly started a brawl in the middle of the thoroughfare.

People had stopped milling about and backed up like Leonard had caught fire as he spat something vitriolic at the man's feet.

A moment later Leonard realized why: he'd offended the largest killbuck in the square.

A meaty fist grabbed the wide-eyed prince by the front of his shirt and drew him forward.

Leonard feigned an apology, then kicked the man in the shin and ran for his life. Hearing the outraged roar behind him, he knew he was in serious trouble. He imagined the fellow wouldn't care in the least if he claimed to be of royal blood and would proceed to grind his bones into dust.

The prince had a smaller stature and speed and made use of both, dodging wayfarers, carts and richly dressed women like he was a young child again and had been caught sneaking frogs into the kitchen with which to woo the pretty scullery maids. There was a second wherein he thought he would surely get away, that the bull of a man behind him was steadily losing ground.

Then Leonard tripped.

His pursuer was on him before he could think to right himself. A boot caught him in the gullet, sending a blast of pain through him that he hadn't felt since Spock struck him on the back of the head.

Maybe that was why he suddenly thought he saw that exact person standing among the crowd.

And that _definitely_ had to be why the person who took the flying leap over his head and kicked his attacker dead-center in the chest looked like Jim.

"_No_," Leonard denied the truth, "no, no, no!"

"Spock," Jim tossed the name over his shoulder, and abruptly Leonard was being hauled to his feet by a strong set of hands under his arms.

He lashed out but couldn't force Spock to let him go.

"You beslubbering malt-worm! You vile canker! Release me at once!"

That was the point at which he ended up over his ex-bodyguard's shoulder and, much to his horror, was unceremoniously toted down the street. His face filled with color, and that lent his cursing a vicious edge.

Jim, the prince was able to note from his upside-down position, didn't appear to have any trouble dodging the big man's fists.

Leonard tried another tactic. "Are you just going to leave him?" he demanded.

"Jim will dispatch your assailant shortly and join us."

Leonard couldn't think of anything to say except "I hate you."

"Indeed," the man carrying him murmured. "You vex me as well, Sir McCoy." After a pause, Spock added, "It was our mistake, however, to underestimate your wily nature. We will take better care in the future."

Leonard sucked in a breath and fisted his hands in the back of Spock's jersey. "You can't do this. This is _wrong_, and you know it!"

To the prince's shock, Spock stopped walking and set him down. Then, peering down his nose at Leonard, he said bluntly, "What better option do you have?"

"B-Better?!" Leonard sputtered. He shoved a hand into Spock's chest but a stone would have been easier to move. "Anything is better than being held hostage!"

Spock only raised an eyebrow. "What if we agreed you would no longer be a hostage?"

The prince opened and closed his mouth.

"Would it not seem fairer to you then?" pressed the man.

"Are you mad?" Leonard questioned, completely at a loss to understand how this man drew his own logic.

"Hey!" a voice cut in. It was Jim, who slowed his pace as he came abreast of them in the street, one of his fists grazed but otherwise looking none-the-worse for his encounter with a large brutish man. He exchanged a look with Spock before switching his gaze to McCoy.

Leonard's knees weakened for no discernable reason.

Jim's mouth curved. "We caught you, Prince."

Leonard straightened his spine, speaking with a bravado he didn't feel. "I wasn't aware you considered me a challenge."

"I'm beginning to think of you as a menace, actually."

Leonard mustered a smile but it wasn't at all sweet in nature. "Then why not let me go?"

"Too easy," replied the man cheerfully. "Say, have you eaten?" He rubbed at his stomach. "I'm starved!"

Leonard clenched his fists.

Jim cut his eyes at him. "Fistfights always improve my appetite."

Leonard clenched his teeth next and bared them.

Spock prudently removed his hands from the prince's person and remarked, "Jim, I believe you are rousing his anger."

"Good," Jim said and did an abrupt about-face. "Where was that tavern we tracked him to? The pie looked good."

"You were spying on me!"

Jim shrugged, not bothering to turn around at the lash of Leonard's accusation. "We were waiting for the perfect opportunity, although... you could have picked a fight with someone who wasn't part bull." Leonard heard him sniff. "I'm not being paid enough for this."

The prince burst out with "YOU'RE NOT GETTING PAID AT ALL!" and launched himself at the fool.

Spock caught the back of his shirt and prevented him from tearing Jim limb-from-limb. "Enough," the man said. Oddly it seemed like he was not speaking to Leonard.

Jim cocked his head at them, his mouth slightly pursed. Then, saying nothing else, he started walking.

Spock, gripping Leonard's elbow, urged the prince to follow.

* * *

"This pie _is_ good."

"I hope you choke on it and die."

"Aw, you're so sweet. Spock, try this pie."

"You are aware I do not consume meat, Jim."

"Frankly I'm not certain you eat at all."

Hunched over on his section of bench, Leonard couldn't resist the jab, "He probably feasts on the blood of virgins. Devil spawn do that, you know."

Jim made a choking noise.

Leonard glared at him. "Quit your snirtling, you child."

Jim reached across the table and tugged on a lock of the prince's hair. "If I'm a child, does that make you an infant?"

Leonard batted the hand away and determinedly fixed his gaze elsewhere. The dice game on the other side of the room was the cause of much of the noise around them.

Jim's eyes had dropped back to his food in the meantime. He rotated the wooden spoon in his fingers before resuming the consumption of the meat pie. "How's my horse?"

Leonard propped an elbow on the table and put his chin in his hand.

"I said," Jim repeated when the prince didn't reply, "how's my horse."

"Regardless of the fact that horse is _not_ yours, if I give her back, will you let me go?"

"No."

Leonard sighed heavily through his nose and turned to stare at the infuriating man, dropping his arm back to the table. "I'm at the limit of my patience with you, Jim. Why is it so difficult for you to leave me alone if you don't intend to harm me, as you so repeatedly insist is the truth?"

"Where would you go?"

"Why should that matter to you?"

Jim started to speak but stopped, jaw working, and looked down at the pie. "I saved you," he said.

Leonard smacked his hand against the tabletop, a sharp sound which garnered the attention of a few people near them. "That's a poor excuse!"

Jim's fingers noticeably tightened on the handle of his spoon but his voice remained calm, if somewhat flat in tone. "It's not an excuse. It's a responsibility."

Leonard stared at the man for a long time, trying to comprehend that.

Eventually Jim set his eating utensil down and sat back, regarding the prince with an equally measured stare. Neither of them spoke—not until someone sat down next to Leonard, startling both men.

Leonard studied him with interest.

Jim stiffened.

"Perhaps," the man said to Leonard in a friendly tone, "you are seeking a travel companion?"

"No, he isn't."

Leonard's first inclination was to decline the assumption but he changed his mind as soon as Jim answered for him. "Why not? What are your merits?"

"They're boundless if you have the gold."

Smiling, Leonard leaned across the table, stuck a hand inside Jim's leather vest, and withdrew the purse he knew to be there. Jim seemed too shocked by the touch to stop him in time.

Leonard flicked aside the drawstring and slid a coin towards his neighbor. He didn't lift his hand from it however. "While I could use a companion in my travels, there are a few questions I feel it necessary to ask. Then, at the termination of the contract, you'll receive another one of these."

"Seems fair. Ask, friend."

"Are you a slaver?"

The man's mouth quirked. "No."

"A miscreant?"

"No."

"A deviant?"

He outright grinned at the prince. "That one depends," he said, flicking a glance first at Jim and then Spock. "Are you asking with respect to my mortal soul, or to whom I bed?"

For some reason, Jim looked furious.

Leonard didn't understand why he should feel embarrassed, only that he did. "That was... an imprudent question. I apologize. I have no interest in the kind of person you fancy. As long as you don't deal in deception, I believe I can abide your company."

Jim reached out and grasped Leonard's forearm. "Stop it," he warned.

Leonard straightened and looked at Jim in a manner that was quite princely despite in his filthy attire. With clear reluctance, Jim withdrew his hand.

The prince turned back to the dark-haired man. "Please, ignore this fopdoodle. What he lacks in sense he unfortunately makes up for with his audacity. Your offer is quite magnanimous and well-timed. I accept it."

"NO!" Jim practically shouted, standing up all at once and bracing his hands against the table. "Pr—"

Leonard instantly stiffened, thinking Jim was going to reveal his identity to the whole of the crowded tavern.

But Jim caught himself in time. "Leonard," he spoke the prince's given name grimly, lowering his voice. "If anyone is acting the fool at this moment, it's you. Can't you see this man is without scruple?"

Leonard swallowed and countered, "Like you?"

Jim's mouth thinned in dismay.

"Do you understand now?" continued Leonard. He glanced at Spock, who was watching them both in silence. "You asked if I had a better option. Well now I do, because any option is better than going with you two." He stood, wishing his heart was beating as calmly as he spoke. "I think I'll take my leave now. Enjoy that pie."

Jim didn't stop him when he backed away from the table. He only said, "You'll regret this."

Leonard snorted softly. "That's not a threat, right? Just a concern for my well-being. Too bad I can't believe you." He smiled down at his new benefactor, who had quietly pocketed the gold coin at some point during the conversation. "Are you coming?"

"Since I've been paid, I guess I am." The stranger took a swallow from Leonard's untouched tankard of ale and seemed prepared to follow him.

Jim cast a slash of a look at Spock, who also rose to his feet.

When Leonard circled the table, Jim blocked his path with an almost-plea of "_Wait._"

But Leonard had had quite enough of Jim. He pushed the man aside, saying, "You don't make my decisions for me. You were never given that right, despite that you seem to think otherwise."

"Wait!" he heard again when he was at the door to the street. "Wait! It was my mistake!"

The unexpected apology caused Leonard's chest to constrict but he refused to turn around. No good would come of forgiving a blackguard like Jim.

"Hm," the prince's newly hired friend said once they were in the open, "that was interesting. I take it you and the merc know each other well."

"How did you know of his profession?"

"Everyone knows about Jim Kirk and his Companion. You looked like you needed a helping hand in getting rid of the two of them."

"I..." Leonard began but didn't finish. He looked away, feeling uncertain. "We met less than a week ago," he settled on. "It makes no sense to trust him—or the other one."

"Fair enough." The man's manner remained friendly. "So, your name is Leonard?"

Leonard nodded.

He placed a hand at the prince's elbow. "Well met. Call me... Redjac." A hint of a smile touched the corners of Redjac's mouth. "Leonard, I do believe we shall be suitable companions for one another. Do you have a room for the night?"

"No."

"Follow me then. There's only one inn in this town worth its price." His eyes crinkled at the corners when Leonard looked hesitant. "Don't worry, it's not a brothel."

"I wasn't concerned."

"Excellent." He moved ahead down the street, expecting Leonard to follow.

Leonard did.

* * *

The innskeeper insisted his establishment was the most respectable in town.

"We had the royal family stay here when their castle flooded!" he boasted.

Leonard assured him this fact made the place more than imminently suitable for a stray traveler such as himself and paid for his boarding as well as for Redjac's.

He didn't think anything of it when Redjac followed him to the staircase leading to the vacant lodgings of the upper floor.

"There's wine available."

Leonard blinked. "I'm fine, thank you, but I will decline."

"As you wish," said Redjac, who then paused briefly. "I'll take a meal in the common room. Shall I come by after?"

"To what purpose?"

Redjac stared at the prince long enough that Leonard felt discomfited. Then the man said slowly, "You did accept me as a companion."

It took him much too long to understand Redjac's implication. When Leonard did, he felt simultaneously hot and cold. "No, you... you misunderstood! I'm in need of a protector—a guard, if you will—not, not a..." He choked on the word _prostitute._

The man tilted his head as if in consideration of something. "And what prevents me from acting as both?"

"Me," the prince answered promptly. He put out his hand in an earnest plea. "Do not think me deceitful, Redjac. I had no intention of securing pleasurable services when I made conversation with you. I only require your presence, and possibly your knife, until I reach my destination." He added, somewhat embarrassed, "Is that all right?"

The man barked out a laugh. "You are an entertaining one, my gentle friend. I see why Kirk was loathe to give you up. It is all right," he said agreeably and performed a perfunctory bow from the waist. "We're of a proper accord now. I shall not warm your bed."

Leonard had seen a flustered person turn beet-red once and wondered if that was how he appeared to Redjac.

"However," the man went on to say, "do understand if you jilt me in terms of payment, I will be greatly offended." He was still smiling when he warned the prince, "I am never as likeable when I feel jilted."

"Of course you'll be paid!" Leonard was quick to assure him.

"Excellent." Redjac glanced through the archway to the main room. "Assuming that is the sum of our conversation, I see someone who will be interested in my particular talents this night. If you'll excuse me, friend..."

Leonard made an incomprehensible noise and waved him away. He sagged against the staircase once the man was gone.

This affair had not turned out at all like he expected.

"By Christ's blood," Leonard muttered to himself as he ascended the stairs.

Could his life become any more eventful?

* * *

A clutter on a shelf caught Leonard's eye as he opened the door. Closing it, he smelled a mingling of beeswax, dusty cloth, and old leather. While his eyes adjusted to the dark, he let his mind wander back to the tavern he had long since vacated, where Jim would still be sitting nursing ale with Spock playing guard.

Why, after knowing they had lost him, did they continue to haunt his steps? What was it Jim and Spock truly wanted of him?

And what made him Jim's responsibility?

Answers continued to elude Leonard. He sighed softly and used the strike of a stone flint to light a candle wick. The wax had nearly melted to the bottom of its holder but it would have to do to hold the shadows at bay. He sat on the edge of a blanket-covered mattress—once again made of that damnably itchy and bug-infested straw—and watched the light of the flame on the door.

His mind would not settle, and his heart leaped each time the sound of footfalls came and went along the hall. He was waiting and he knew why. The feeling ended when someone finally stopped by his door and lingered there.

His breath caught when the door began to move inward.

"Don't," the prince said, voice cracking, one hand gripping a knee. "I told you, you haven't the right."

It seemed like an interminable amount of time that the door hung suspended between the acts of opening and closing, until at last it quietly and slowly eased shut again.

He released his breath and slept fitfully that night.

* * *

For two days Leonard lingered inside the inn, afraid of who might be lurking outside of it. On the third day, he went to visit the blacksmith with Redjac at his side and found his horse ready to ride.

They left town early that morning and rode deeper into the southland. Redjac turned out to be a fairly likable man with a penchant for gossip, changing topics of conversation frequently enough that Leonard didn't have time to dwell on his suspicion that they were being followed.

They stopped to break fast, then again later on to let the horses rest. Leonard found himself pleased with the shoes the smithy had cast for his horse. She appeared content too.

In the afternoon, a wagon pulled by a team of two horses came into sight along the road, heading the way the two men had come.

"Ho!" Redjac called to its driver.

Leonard could hear a tinkling sound and soon realized it came from the wagon itself, which sported an unusual arrangement of items, from household pans to cloth bundles and ironwork tools. Everything clinked and clanked together, making a steady chime of noise as the wagon lurched forward on rough-hewn wheels.

"Ho there!" the prince's companion called again.

A rotund man with a long-whiskered mustache stuck his hand into the air and waved enthusiastically back at them. He cried, "Why, my friends, you're a sight for these sore eyes!" Then specifically he identified Redjac by name as they came abreast of one another and halted.

Turning a twinkling gaze to Leonard, the wagon driver questioned, "And who's this?"

Redjac laid an arm across his saddle bow. "His name is Leonard. Leonard, meet Harry Mudd."

Mudd made a pleased noise, rubbing one end of his mustache between his forefinger and index finger. "Oh, it's good to meet you, my boy—good to meet you! Any friend of Redjac's is a friend of mine!"

This was a wagtail, Leonard thought. He'd met too many during his days at court to not recognize their ilk. Still, the prince remembered his manners and made a courtly, if stilted, bow. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Sir Mudd."

"Ah, a gentle man too!" Mudd crowed, sounded even more pleased.

Redjac grinned. "On your way to the fair, Harry?"

"You're a merchant," Leonard guessed.

"Yes, yes," Mudd agreed, "a merchant! Harcourt Fenton Mudd, that's me. Perhaps you've heard my name? I'm quite renowned in certain circles, you know."

"Mayhap," Leonard replied, seeing that an answer in the negative was not something the man would appreciate.

"Ah, of course you have! As I said, I am widely known, my boy—widely known for my travels into the most _dangerous lands_ to procure the most _exotic_ product! Here..." He twisted around on the wagon's seat to lift a cloth from the back and dig around for something. Finally he held up a jar. "This is a rare powder from the Eastern Sands, made from the crushed scales of their desert dragon, which is a mystical creature indeed, hardly ever seen. A little of this—" He shook the jar. "—and you'll never suffer pustules or boils again!"

Curious, Leonard moved forward for a better look. The mare whinnied as they came abreast of Mudd's wagon but he gave her a comforting pat on the neck. "I have an interest in tonics," he remarked. "It cures pustules, you say? May I inspect it?"

"Certainly, certainly," Mudd agreed, puffing up with pride. He removed the leather ties around the top of the jar which held a cloth in place. Then, to Leonard's surprise, the man stuck his fingers in the powder, and let it pour from his hand back into the jar like sand. "It's very fine, you see."

It had a strong, unusual smell, and the color was strangely iridescent. Leonard leaned in to study the coating of the powder—

—and Mudd smiled and blew a cloud of it straight into his face.

Leonard reared back, startled, and coughed. "What—?" His lungs tightened. He grabbed his chest and coughed again, nearly falling off his horse in the process. "What did you just do?" he demanded.

"Oh dear," Mudd said, wiping at his fingers with a rag, "I think he's going to fall. Try to catch him, Redjac. The last one nearly died from cracking his head."

Leonard heard a sharp laugh and hunched forward to grip the horse, to stay on her; but he was already sliding precariously sideways, his head spinning from vertigo. That powder, in his nose, in his mouth, tasted vile. His eyes started to burn.

Then Leonard was falling for real, his limbs going lax without his brain having any part in the decision. Somebody did catch him, and he was unhooked from the stirrups and lowered to the ground.

Leonard saw Redjac looking down at him, his expression all-at-once amused and pitying.

"When I offered you a little entertainment, you should have accepted it," the man said to the prince. "Where you're going, no one is going to bother to give you a choice if they want your flesh."

Leonard, stunned by the betrayal and paralyzed from the powder, couldn't do anything except stare and panic inside his head where no one could hear him.

In the end, he was bound for enslavement after all.

* * *

**This is why Prince McCoys should not wander about without their bodyguards, knavish as those bodyguards may be.**

Also, if you recognized the character - er, myth - Redjac, kudos to you!


	4. Part Four

While he was relieved the paralysis was not permanent, regaining control of his limbs took too long for Leonard's liking.

It seemed the man who had used the powder (which now Leonard doubted had anything to do with dragons from the East) had been confident his latest catch would recover and 'sell big' at their destination. Leonard knew this because the man, Harry Mudd, talked nonstop as the wagon rattled down the road. It was obvious he was utterly pleased with himself.

"Such a fine specimen!" boasted Mudd. "Youth and good teeth—what a difficult combination to find! I admit to surprise when Redjac sent word and urged me to come along so quickly. He has this bad habit of scaring my potential prospects half out of their wits before he brings them along. But I had a feeling, indeed I did, that this time would be unusual. There is a soothsayer, you see, whom I had visited some days prior. He said doors would open which had hither-to been closed, and if I chose my door carefully I would increase my fortune ten-fold! I wouldn't say I am a superstition man at heart, no, no, not at all, but one ever needs the favor of the gods in this line of work. And he was right! You are an excellent piece—oh, I think I hear you jostling about back there. Has your speech returned yet, my boy?"

If it had, Mudd would have experienced an earful by now of Leonard's thoughts on the enterprise of slave-traders. After, that is, he beat the man senseless and strung him up.

That fantasy wasn't likely to come true any time soon. Leonard could barely wiggle his toes in his boots and bend his fingers. Even worse, something god-awfully sharp was digging into his back under the leather wagon cover and he couldn't do a thing about it! The effort to roll himself sideways had knocked over a set of tools, which was the noise Mudd had obviously heard.

_Just poke your nose back here, you lout,_ Leonard thought viciously. _I'll teach you what happens when you steal a McCoy!_

He would get out of this situation if it was the last thing he did!

* * *

A ruckus started beyond the wagon. At first Leonard was busy testing how far he could move his legs. He kept knocking into objects scattered about the wagon floor alongside him, but Mudd appeared to find this amusing and made Leonard wonder how sadistic the man was to enjoy the sounds of his victims struggling to get free. So it wasn't until the wagon began to slow its pace significantly that Leonard recognized the clip-clop of too many hooves to belong to Mudd's team of horses.

Leonard had a moment to think this might be a chance to incite his rescue.

Then Mudd called out a greeting in his boisterous jolly voice to whomever they were passing on the road.

He's trying to sell wares, Leonard realized. The man has a person tied up, drugged, and hidden in the back of his wagon and yet he wants to coax some coin out of the nearest pocket.

It was with disgust that Leonard gave the side board of the wagon a kick. The kick was a little too feeble to justly signify his anger so he did it again. Soon it occurred to him he could keep it up and likely attract attention.

Mudd, perhaps catching on quickly to what Leonard was about, raised his voice to a near-yell and, from the sound of it, began to bang on various pots to emphasize their durability to his customer.

Half of Leonard considered this affront to his ability to cause trouble, and the other half was simply fed-up with being someone's victim. He tried for a nasty word that in any court would turn the minstrels on their ears and appall the ladies but only succeeded in making a mindless shout.

That was when his surroundings went eerily silent. Leonard blinked against the darkness of his prison and wondered, _Have I done it?_

He became excited and began knocking at things left and right. The racket he made was horrendous and glorious at the same time.

Mudd's voice came through at a very close distance but was saying, alarmed, "Sir!"

Without warning the wagon cover was thrown clear of Leonard's head. He squinted feebly, the sudden sunlight of the late afternoon harsh on his eyes.

"And what is this?" inquired a new voice.

The person who peered over the side to look at Leonard with curious blue eyes was Jim.

Leonard did not stop to think how ironic it was that he was glad to see his first kidnapper.

Mudd's arms could be seen flapping behind Kirk. "It's nothing! Nothing!" the portly man insisted. "Just my wife's nephew! He has an awful head for drink, the silly gudgeon, and—"

Abruptly Mudd wasn't talking very loudly at all, instead stringing together a rapid-fire mumble as though someone had covered his mouth or thrown something over his head.

Leonard drew his brows and glared at his rescuer. It seemed worth the effort to grouse, albeit with a lengthy pause due to the condition of his uncooperative vocal chords. "About—time."

Jim leaned against the wagon-side and braced an arm across it. "Is he for sale?" he questioned too idly.

Leonard's eyes widened.

There came the sounds of scuffling, then Mudd appeared beside Jim, puffing red and straightening the front of his brightly colored vest with a nervous air. "For sale, you say? Good sir, I don't take your meaning!"

"Shame," murmured Kirk. He produced a gold coin seemingly out of thin air. "Your nephew looks like a biter. I like biters."

Mudd's fist had wrapped around the coin in the next instant. "I, ah," the man said, gaze shifting from side to side, although Leonard doubted there were other travelers on the road, "I am fond of this nephew, you see." He coughed a little. "And there would be the good wife to explain to. It would cost five."

Jim looked insulted. "Five!"

"H-Hey!" Leonard croaked and started kicking at the side of the wagon again.

"Three."

"Three!" exclaimed Mudd. "That is a cheat, sir! I could sell him for—" He stopped and started again, "That is, a human being is a valuable commodity even when you intend to commit unsavory... deeds with him. I can accept no less than four!"

Jim scratched at the blond stubble on his chin. "There's a town yonder and, I hear, a magistrate with a grave dislike of flesh traders." He eyed the various objects in Mudd's wagon, not including Leonard. "Suppose I were to give him a tale of a merchant—Harcourt Fenton Mudd, isn't it?—whose priciest wares are kings' secrets and slave marketing. Do you think he would give me a nice bounty to fetch your head?"

Mudd began to make noises that weren't nearly as brazen as his earlier speech. "You wouldn't—you have no proof!"

Jim gestured at Leonard. "Is he not all I need? What do you think he will say to the magistrate about you?"

"Don't be absurd!" cried the accused. "I, I see that I had no thought in my mind. Forgive me, sire, forgive me!" He held out the gold coin. "This man is clearly not worthy of you!"

Leonard struggled against his bonds, more pissed than ever.

Jim didn't take the coin. "Keep it," he said, "and let me have him. I'll consider that coin and my silence the price of this exchange."

Mudd hurried around to the back of the wagon to grab at Leonard's boots. Leonard struggled but the man managed to dump him out along with a bolt of cloth and a frying pan. No sooner did the prince start cursing and writhing in the dirt did Mudd flee from sight. Shortly after that, the wagon gave a dramatic lurch and began to roll away.

Jim came over to Leonard, cut the ropes around his ankles and stood him up.

"Catch—him!" Leonard cried. Speaking nearly cost him his breath but he kept at it: "Catch—that—FIEND!"

Jim rocked on his heels and just gave the prince a blank stare.

Leonard shouldered the fool aside with a contemptible "Poop-noddy!" and staggered straight for Spock. "You! How—dare _you_—let the—_villain_—escape!"

"Spock," Jim said from behind the prince.

Spock gave a slight nod and came forward. Then, much to Leonard's dismay, he picked the prince up and lifted him onto the stallion, who calmly nibbled at weeds along the side of the road.

Leonard would have thrown himself off the opposite side if Spock hadn't immediately slid into the saddle behind him and anchored him in place with an arm about his waist. Then they were moving, faster and faster, down the road. Leonard struggled only briefly before he craned his head around Spock to see Jim standing in the dust, watching them ride away.

He didn't understand what they were doing, but then again he had never understood them. Not since the first moment they met.

* * *

Being unable to speak properly was frustrating. Leonard kept up a litany of words, sounding them out and trying to force them into whole sentences without stuttering. Eventually he recovered his speech to his satisfaction, although his voice itself had a lingering roughness to it.

"Why," he asked, "did we leave Jim?"

"He has matters to settle."

"But why?" Leonard pressed Spock, since they had veered from the road some time ago, and the horse's gait had slowed to a smooth trot.

"You ask too many questions."

"I have a right to ask," the prince harrumphed, "and you have a lot of things to explain for. You clearly followed me despite my protests. Jim has somehow acquired a bruised face, and one of your shirt sleeves is soaked in blood. Have you been fighting? With whom? And why come after me only to split up?"

Spock allowed this interrogation without interrupting. Leonard guessed there would be no answers from his tight-lipped companion but Spock surprised him by saying, "He will report to the magistrate."

Leonard said, caught between disbelief and hope, "He's turning in Mudd?"

"Yes."

"But... I thought he let that odious man go!"

"Your assumption was incorrect." Spock stopped the horse in the shade of an ancient oak tree and swung to the ground. "Hold out your hands."

Leonard did.

Spock cut the bindings.

After shaking out his wrists to help the proper return of his blood flow, Leonard swung a leg over the horse. Briefly Spock steadied him once he was down then stepped back from him.

"We will make camp here," the prince was informed.

Leonard turned in a full circle. "He can find us at this place?"

"He will."

It seemed that once again his options were limited. They had come quite a distance from the road and Leonard was not certain he could find it again on foot.

He watched Spock soothe the stallion and inspect the saddle bags. Then the man untied a small brown leather bag, saying, "This may have a salve for your wrists."

Leonard came forward and held out his hands.

Spock threw the pouch to him.

As he opened it, the prince had a queer feeling. He hardly glanced inside it before he moved closer to Spock.

"You should sit down."

Having released the horse to wander on its own, Spock turned to stare at him.

"By the tree," Leonard added. "I can..." He trailed off and indicated the man's arm.

Spock did nothing of the sort and made as if to follow the horse.

Leonard felt a flare of annoyance. "I said sit _down_," he ordered.

Spock turned around again to look down his nose at Leonard in his arrogant way. Their staring contest lasted for nearly a minute.

Abruptly Spock turned back to the tree and settled upon a large root which had broken free of the ground. He turned his face aside when Leonard approached and lowered himself to his knees in front of him.

"Your arm," he instructed.

Spock extended his arm, still looking away.

The prince muttered over the bloody slash a moment before sighing. "You'll have to cut the shirt or remove it."

"No."

"I can't see the wound well enough to treat it!"

"I made no request for your aid."

"Listen here, you pribbling pigeon-egg! I have as much liking for you as a boil on my bottom! But that damn stallion will run me into the nearest tree unless you ride it with me, so I can't have you dying of infection!"

The dark-haired, dark-eyed man met his angry retort without reaction. That infuriated Leonard to the point of his face becoming dark red. He grabbed at the loose neckline of Spock's shirt and gave it a sharp jerk, satisfied to hear it tear.

Spock had a painful hold on his wrist in the next instant, and for a heartbeat or two Leonard believed the man might break it. But then Spock pushed his arm away and reached for the drawstring at the front of his shirt. Leonard was caught between triumph and embarrassment as the man drew the garment over his head and placed it aside on the root.

Spock had the faintest hint of an expression on his face—and it wasn't pleasant, as if it was the horrible thing in the world to sit bare-chested in the daylight.

Leonard caught himself studying the curve of the man's ribs and corralled his errant thoughts. He gently twisted Spock's injured arm to a different position for better visual inspection. The pouch which Spock had detached from the horse's saddle and tossed to him held scant few herbs in it but some of them would be useful. Leonard opened a waterskin with his teeth and washed off the dirt.

"Could of been worse," he remarked. "The bleeding is sluggish so it means to clot. Are you light-headed?"

"No."

"In pain?"

Spock did not answer.

"I see. Well, I can't do much for you at the moment except clean this and bind it with a poultice. I need to know right away if you feel feverish. Do you understand?"

Spock's gaze lowered to the prince's grip on his forearm. "Why do you act so common?"

The question startled Leonard. "Common?"

"A man must behave in keeping with his blood."

"Are you insulting me now?"

Spock glanced sidelong at him. "Insult was not intended."

Leonard sat on his heels and regarded the man. "What's wrong with choosing to be nice? I think you'd agree there are plenty of cruel men in this world. Because I am royal-born must I become one of them? Nay, Spock. My stepfather may be half-faced in his dealings, but my mother was revered by everyone. She was a Queen who ruled fairly and with compassion, and I know that she wished the same of me." He took in the open pouch at his feet briefly and spoke with a heavy bitterness. "I have disappointed her. Your Kirk was not wrong: I was too complacent and careless with my living. And now I am no longer a prince." From the pouch, he picked out a pinch of a sweet-smelling herb and rubbed it between forefinger and thumb. "This will help numb the skin slightly. I see that you also carry willow bark. That is very wise. If we could boil some of the water and use it to make a tea..." He stopped, feeling a little guilty. "Never mind."

But to Leonard's surprise Spock nodded. "I will gather some kindling." The man twisted at the waist in reaching for his shirt.

"Wait," Leonard meant to stop him, "your arm is still—" but then he caught a glimpse of silver in the sunlight and forgot about his consternation. He pressed a hand against Spock's shoulder blade to hold the angle of the man's back for a better look. "What is this?"

Spock abandoned the root so suddenly Leonard almost unbalanced. He had donned his shirt before Leonard could call his name.

The prince stood up and gestured Spock's back. "What was—"

Spock's voice was as cold as a winter storm. "You overstep yourself, McCoy."

Leonard dropped his hand and stared. But as Spock stepped from the oak's shadow, Leonard called to him, "The marks—however old, they must pain you. I could make an oil—" He was interrupted.

"That will be unnecessary."

Spock left him standing among the roots and refused to come close to him thereafter. The prince had to make do with badgering Spock in a one-sided shouting contest across the field about binding his arm.

"Goat-headed varlet," Leonard muttered after he finally retreated to the tree.

There he sulked for the time being until Jim found them.

* * *

"It's nearly night! Why are you so late?"

"I'm unaware you had a schedule set for me," the man dismounting retorted to the prince.

Leonard frowned and moved to the horse's head. "That's my horse!" he exclaimed a moment later.

Jim patted the mare's back affectionately. "She missed me, I can tell."

"But how...?" It dawned on Leonard, then, what he had been so blind to miss. "You found Redjac." His eyes narrowed. "You _fought_ Redjac. That's how Spock hurt his arm."

"He wasn't forthcoming with information... at first," Jim added slyly, now watching Leonard from the corners of his eyes.

The prince crossed his arms. "Should I thank you?"

"I do love to be thanked."

"Forget it."

Jim sighed. "I thought so. Leonard—Prince McCoy," he amended, "do you realize the number of hardships you've caused me over the last few days?"

"Do you realize I think you deserve it?"

The man sighed again. "Truly, you did not seem this excitable in the castle."

Leonard went towards him with the intention of putting his hands about Kirk's neck.

"I suppose I do bear some blame." Jim admitted as he eyed Leonard ruefully. "I should have paid only silver."

"That's another bone I have to pick with you, you impertinent dog! What manner of rescue is fattening the purse of my captor?"

"A smart one," Jim said, looking pleased with himself. "Now, do you have many more bones to pick with me, Prince? If not, I should like to speak with my companion."

Leonard stalked off to the tree and came back, shoving a bundle of cloth strips which Leonard painstakingly washed and dried in the sun into the man's hand. "Secure his arm if you can catch him."

Jim's eyebrows went up. "What have you done to Spock?"

With an indignant sniff, the prince turned his back. "I've done nothing."

"I see," the man remarked in a disbelieving tone. Nonetheless, as he left to seek out the elusive Spock, he carried the bandages with him.

Leonard went to the mare and laid his head against her neck. "This is frustrating," he confessed to her, "but at the very least I am not dead." Then more softly since he was alone, "Thank you, Jim."

* * *

_He hunts with a weak arm_, Leonard scoffed mentally and scuffed at the ground with a boot.

The sun would set soon, and yet they were doing little to prepare for camp. Spock was still missing, although Jim claimed the man gone off to hunt their dinner.

For his part, Kirk had leaned back against the trunk of the oak tree, closed his eyes and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles as if he had nothing more important to do than nap.

Leonard took about as kindly to this as he had to anything the fellow had done thus far. He stared at the man for the longest time, hoping to discomfort him simply with the knowledge that he was being watched.

Soon after, Jim started to snore.

In retaliation Leonard may have kicked him.

The idiot roused enough to turn over onto his side before settling back into his obnoxious snoring.

"Hey, you," the prince said, nonplussed, "I have questions!"

Jim swatted at his ear like the voice he heard was a bothersome fly.

"Jim," hissed Leonard, "I know you aren't asleep. Now in about half a minute I'm going to come over there and stick my fingers up your nose to see how well you breathe then!"

Jim rolled over. "That's gross," he said, tone both incredulous and approving. "Even for a prince, that is gross."

Leonard scooted closer, wrapped his arms around his knees, and glared at the man. "I don't like to be ignored."

"So I gathered." Jim sat up. "Too many things seem to offend you."

"Your face, for one."

Jim rubbed at his jaw. "That just means you have poor taste and possibly poor eyesight. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Leonard grabbed Jim's middle finger and bent it backwards until the fool yelped.

"Ow, ow, ow, you hurt me!"

"Stop acting like a child."

"I'll tell Spock!"

The prince snorted but soon sobered as the mentioning of the name effectively reminded him of his concern. "How did he get the scars?"

Jim looked at him for a long second, his amusement gone. He seemed to be weighing his response against his loyalty.

Leonard said, "I only ask because if I know the type of instrument used and how long has passed since the scars healed over, I can decide how best to treat them."

"You can't treat scars."

"Scars are still made of skin, Jim. And I would bet they hamper him more than he is likely to admit to anyone. There are some oils which can soften the tissue so it doesn't strain with movement. There's even some which can help with the discoloration." He paused before adding more quietly, "The damage is permanent, of course, but that's no reason not to help him live comfortably."

Jim sighed through his nose. "It isn't my story to tell, Leonard."

"Do you expect Spock to?"

"No."

"Then settle for the second best option."

Jim's mouth quirked. "He's right. You are wily."

Leonard only said, "I'm known for my superior advice."

"And your inability to stink—oh, wait, forget that." Jim pinched his nostrils shut and grinned.

"You, Jim Kirk, are the most childish man I have ever laid eyes on!"

"It is you who brings out the childishness in me, Prince. I was quite somber before."

"That's because Spock doesn't know how to play."

They shared a laugh and a grin—until Leonard caught on to what he was doing and forced himself to stop. He wasn't (absolutely was not!) making friends with a mercenary and kidnapper.

That brought him to his second question, or rather demand: "If I am to travel in your company henceforth, there are conditions you must abide by."

Jim laid one arm across a knee. "And what is it your Royalness requires? Keep in mind," he pointed out, "there is likely to be a shortage in goose-feather mattresses and handmaidens in the near future."

Leonard leaned forward, so earnest was he in his thinking. "Never mind the luxury of a life I am not likely to experience again. I am not that boil-brained! No, it is simpler: you must promise me not to kill."

Jim grew oddly silent.

"I am aware this has been your livelihood for some time. However," the prince insisted, "I cannot condone it. Whether you strike a man down in front of me or we find him wasting by the roadside, it will be my duty to keep him from death. I am not claiming to be the righteous man which you once named me," and here his fingers found a loose thread on his clothes and fiddled with it, "but I believe it is in every man's power to choose life or death, and he must choose life—even for another, who may have wronged him."

"I knew you were strange," Jim said at last, turning to place his back against the tree again. "I will think on it."

"I would not expect your decision to be made lightly," agreed Leonard. He stared out over the field, trying to spot a figure which might be Spock.

Silence settled between the two men, and Leonard found that for once he was grateful for it. It relaxed him.

After some time, to his right, Jim shifted and said, "He has born them since childhood."

Leonard's throat tightened all of a sudden. "I see," he managed. "And the weapon used against him?"

"In all likelihood, various things: a hand, a whip, a sword. It is... not something we speak of."

The prince said with cold certainty, "He was a slave."

"From the time of his birth," Jim replied. Then the man stood abruptly and brushed the leaves and dirt from his trousers. He seemed to have no more liking for their conversation.

Leonard stood too but awkwardly so.

Jim's thoughts were unreadable in his eyes as they stared at one another.

"Should I start the fire?" the prince offered.

His companion nodded. Then, mysteriously he said, "I suppose it is ironic."

"How so?"

Jim looked away. "I bought you, and Spock... Spock was bought for me."

Leonard would have asked _who would buy you a slave?_ but Jim shook his head slightly and strode away.

Outside his castle's walls, Leonard was learning many things. Most of which, he would conclude later on, he wished he had never had to know.

* * *

Spock had returned from his hunt with two tiny quails, neither of which Leonard discovered Spock intended to eat.

"Do you truly not partake of meat?" Leonard questioned him as Jim prepared the birds for roasting with his knife. When he had wanted to know how Jim had re-acquired the dagger Leonard had sold, Jim smirked and replied, "By selling your cloak."

Spock didn't answer him right away, so the prince prodded him with the stick intended meant to be the spit for the quails.

"Why not?"

"Killing animals for food is not a custom of my people."

"Where do you come from?"

Spock chose silence again.

"I am only curious," the prince grumped. "Your features are like no other's that I have seen."

Jim piped up, "You really shouldn't insult him."

"I'm not!"

"You've implied he's ugly before."

"He is hardly that!" Leonard shot back before he could think better of the response.

Jim beamed at him.

The prince leveled his finger at the brat, not liking to be tricked. "You're the ugly one, you coxcomb. And a dewberry and a basket-cockle besides!"

"Sweet nothings in my ear," replied Kirk, who was in far too good of a mood at the prospect of dinner. "Spock, there are some apples and bread in my saddlebag."

Spock rose from the fire he had been tending.

"Finally," remarked the prince, "a meal worth having."

"Oh, none of that is for you."

Leonard twisted around to stare at Jim. "What do you mean?"

Jim held up a headless, featherless bird by one limp foot. "Out here, you eat what you gather, kill, or prepare. So you, my dear spoiled prince, will have to handle your own meal. Here." He tossed his knife with deadly accuracy into the dirt between Leonard's feet.

Leonard pulled it out and considered skinning Kirk with it. "You lend me this knife and think yourself wise?"

"I think you're hungry."

Leonard hesitated. The man wasn't wrong. Then he held out his hand and said imperiously, "Give me that other bird."

Jim smiled and tossed that too at the prince's feet.

Leonard vividly imagined someone other than the bird as he cut off its head.

* * *

They slept on the ground without blankets. It was disconcerting for Leonard who had never done such a thing before, and so he could not sleep. Spock, he knew, was not sleeping either. He moved noiselessly about the camp like a wraith.

Oak boughs rose above their head and the moon burned within them. Something moved occasionally, a squirrel or a small bird. Distantly there would come the hoot of an owl, and once Leonard thought he saw a shadow dip low over the field.

In a way, the quiet life of the nighttime creatures lulled him into a strange, cocooning sense of safety.

Then Spock drifted over to the still form of Jim while Leonard lay pretending to dream instead of watching the world through his lashes.

He tensed without knowing why.

Spock stooped low, and his long fingers grazed the curve of Jim's cheek. The gesture held no malice, only intimacy and an aching gentleness.

He saw Jim stir without opening his eyes and capture Spock's hand. Then Jim laid it against his mouth, let it linger there, before letting it go.

Spock, who hardly ever seemed to wear his emotion for others to see, had a look on his face just then that could not be mistaken in its nature.

Leonard squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like an intruder and, worse yet, a voyeur. He was afraid they would discover him to be awake. More so, he was afraid he could not hide his reaction.

How long had it been since he had felt what Spock feels?

He pictured her face as he had last seen it, white and still, and the babe nestled in her arms. His eyes burned fiercely with that memory, and he fought with his own breath as it betrayed him with a rasping sound.

The prince gave up the pretense of sleeping, then, and flopped to his opposite side, laying a hand over his face to hide himself.

It did no good to think of the woman and the child, no good at all when he hardly remembered loving them. Some would say he ached so badly these many years later because he had loved them but Leonard just did not know. He thought it was his guilt, more than anything, which tormented him so.

He felt rather than saw Spock moving around him, just as he felt Jim's scrutiny upon his back; but thankfully neither man disturbed him and eventually, from practice, the prince was able to calm his thoughts and welcome sleep. The morning came too quickly in that respect.

And so did trouble.

Someone literally picked Leonard up and out of sleep by the back of his neck, snapping in his ear at the same time, "_Get on the horse!_"

"Huh? What?" the prince rasped sleepily, his limbs tingling all over from being woken so abruptly.

Jim gave him a shove from behind then ran with him for the mare.

"What's going on?" Leonard said as he made a clumsy effort at mounting.

Jim was already seated and hauled him up by the arm to sit behind him. "Redjac," he said in a dark voice, wheeling the horse about.

Leonard hooked his arms around Jim's middle, a panicky feeling starting low in his stomach. "I thought you would have killed him!" he replied.

"I should have," Jim only said, and then their horse was flat-out running across the field and far from sight of their camp.

"Spock," the prince remembered suddenly, and his grip loosened.

"Don't let go!" Jim ordered.

Then Leonard felt a hand drop over his own and squeeze his knuckles.

"Spock is our second plan," the prince thought he heard.

That didn't make sense to him. He asked Jim, "For what?"

Kirk looked about as grim-faced as Leonard had ever seen him. "When they catch up to us."

Hearing that matter-of-fact admission was the reason Leonard began to panic in earnest.

* * *

**I am not turning this into a series. I am not turning this into a series. I am not turning... Oh hell. I might be turning this into a series.**

**Next up, a prince and his bodyguards running amok through the countryside being chased by a dragon called the Fearsome KLMeri. Friends, I beg you, please stop me before this gets any worse!**

**Although, I can say the next chapter is the last chapter of A Quarter South. Okay, thanks, and bye.**


	5. Part Five

**Note to self: no more stupid stories. 12k words in 2 days. People at work thought I was brain-damaged. **  
**Epilogue is still to come, so proceed only if you cannot wait a few more days.**

**That said, THERE IS VIOLENCE AHEAD. Violent people, violent actions - just violence, okay? If you are sensitive about this in your reading material, please do not read the next chapter.**

* * *

They had traveled not far at all when the prince's panic overwhelmed him. As each minute passed, he had been imagining them being surrounded and slain in various gruesome ways. Now he felt there was no choice but to take action, and quickly. His loud demands were: "Let me off this horse! Get me a sword! Or a bow and arrow! A rock!"

Jim spoke in a much calmer fashion. "Could you use any of those things?"

"I'm a prince!" he retorted, fear belying his indignation. "I've had arms training since I was knee-high!"

"I asked if you could use any of those things."

"I... can use the rock."

Jim's chest rumbled beneath the prince's grip.

"Flax-wench, you'd better stop laughing at me!"

Jim was amused. "So now I am a wench? Ah! A promotion!"

Leonard knew it was in his best interest to stay quiet. Whatever else he said Jim would only treat as reason to laugh, and Leonard had not been born to provide entertainment for the likes of a hugger-mugger like Kirk. Truly, could this man be more infuriating!

The prince's silence had sobered Jim. He found one of Leonard's hands as he had once before and squeezed the tense knuckles. "Fear not," Jim reassured him, "we will survive this."

"Only a fool sounds so certain of an uncertainty."

"Then I have always been the fool."

Here was a chance for hearty agreement but Leonard found he could say nothing except, "I suppose I have no choice but to trust you."

"Thank you."

Why did the thanks sound so sincere? Was that all Kirk had wanted from him? Leonard wondered. If so, then the man was the stranger of them both, and his motivations the strangest of all.

In that moment, the prince recoiled out of shock. The turning of his thoughts meant that somehow he had lost his better sense. He had begun to sympathize with his kidnapper.

And that, Leonard decided, would just not do.

* * *

The land stretched onward with a gentle rise and fall of grassland. Though it surprised Leonard they not yet seen Redjac in two hours of quick-paced riding, he was quite pessimistic about their chances.

"We must go to a town."

"Can't," said Jim.

"But we must!" insisted the prince. "Do you not realize we are safer in the company of others? Out here, we could fall afoul of Redjac or any crude-minded individual and it would matter to none but the crows!"

"What makes you think a town is more sympathetic than a flock of crows?" Jim argued. "In my experience, many folk believe it is easier to see a man dead than to share his ill fortune."

Leonard bit back a retort. "Then what do you suggest? This horse cannot continue on without reprieve and if we go on foot we might as well sit down in the grass and await our deaths."

The man in front of him sighed. "If there was a forest we could cover our tracks and hide easily enough, but I know this land well: we will not be upon a tree line before nightfall. There is little choice here, Prince, if you mean for us to seek shelter."

"The horse grows weary."

"Then shelter it is," said Jim grimly. "Look yonder."

Leonard shaded his eyes. He saw after some moments of straining the tentative outline of a man-made structure to their left. As they continued riding, it grew larger, became an abandoned windmill with its roof fallen in and its vanes broken and rotting. When Jim resolutely turned the horse toward it, he exclaimed, "Surely you cannot mean to go there! Jim, that is too obvious a hideout!"

"You said you trusted me."

"Clearly I have made a grievous error. You're mad!"

Jim did not listen to his protests, however, and took them across the field at a steady pace. When they were upon the mill, Jim dismounted and left Leonard on the horse while he inspected their surroundings.

Leonard did not like the look of this mill in the least. "Why not hang a banner of white from the top declaring our defeat?" he groused.

Jim paused by an entrance which was missing its door; however he did not go in. Dagger in hand, he signaled for Leonard's silence and went on to circle the curve of the mill's exterior wall. Soon he was out of sight.

With foreboding Leonard scanned the rise they had left behind. Because he was also trying to hear something of Jim's scouting expedition, he caught the curious sound of a nearby clinking, like the jingling of a bell, and nudged the horse forward to investigate.

He came up a tall pile of both bundled and loose hay, some of it dark brown with age and some of it fresh. One one side of it stood a donkey twitching its ears at a dragonfly. A tiny brass bell attached to its harness rang with the beast's restless movements.

More interestingly, a man crouched there also. He ignored Leonard's cautious approach in lieu of digging through an old burlap sack. Leonard guessed he was some local farmer or vagabond from his worn, mud-weighted boots and thick jumble of mismatched clothes.

"You there, old fellow," he called from over his saddlebow.

The man scratched at an ear absently without looking around "What?"

"Whereabouts is the road to the nearest town?"

The man lifted his head, then, and Leonard drew hard on the reins, taken aback by the leather strung across his right eye.

He cleared his throat and fixed his gaze on a distant spot so as not to treat the man as a spectacle. "Sir, the road... where is the road?"

"What'd you say? Road, lad?" He spoke with a deliberate half-wittedness that began to irk the prince.

Dismouting, Leonard crossed to the haystack in three quick strides. "A road," he repeated sharply, "any road! Surely there must be a town somewh—"

Somebody came skidding down from the top of the hay with a war cry more akin to a child's whoop than a soldier's bloody roar. Leonard leaped back on instinct and narrowly missed being toppled into.

The person landed on his knees with a clumsy thump. He had a shock of light-colored hair not unlike Jim's but his face was that of a younger man's.

The vagabond by the donkey dropped the sack and shot to his feet, fussing furiously. "By gods! What did I tell ye? Wait for the signal! THE SIGNAL, YOU GOOSE!"

And just like that, Leonard realized he had made a terrible mistake. He turned to run back to the mare but someone else was already there, patting down her withers while she danced nervously under the unfamiliar touch.

"Vermin, get away from my horse!" he shouted.

A fourth man came around the back side of the hay at a languid pace and blocked Leonard's path. Leonard took one look at him and swallowed his next insult.

The fellow was dark-haired and not very tall; he drove the tip of a long broadsword into the ground with unmistakable strength and leaned upon its hilt, appraising Leonard like a stable master judging the worth of new horseflesh. His clothing was sober but very fine, tight and pulled about. The black sleeveless vest-cloak with silver-embroidered cord might have been the garb of a minor lord or a wealthy merchant. He bore no ornaments at all to match his rich dress.

Leonard found himself rooted in place under the man's stare. Vaguely he was aware of the others closing in around him.

"Hello, wayward one. Are you lost?" the swordbearer inquired in a politely mocking tone.

The decoy, the one with the leather eye patch, came to stand beside this dangerous-looking man and, startling Leonard, lifted the patch to reveal a perfectly healthy eye. He studied the prince sideways, summing up what he saw with "Unarmed and probably penniless."

"I want his boots," said the youngest of the group.

Leonard drew in a long breath and took the fighting stance he had learned in his youth when the meaner of his cousins wanted to show off their latest skills in fighting. The quartermaster hadn't always stopped them before the bruising became too deep. Suffice to say, ever since those times Leonard has had no liking for brutes.

He raised his fists. One of the men laughed.

"Return my horse," the prince warned them, "and you will save yourselves an unpleasant fate."

The leader plucked his sword out of the ground. "Shall we test that theory?"

Leonard was prepared to land at least one punch and subsequently be cleaved in two.

A shout of "_HOLD!_" distracted them all. Even the bloodthirsty youth snapped to attention.

The command came from a hard-eyed Jim, whose long legs quickly shortened the distance between them. Leonard discovered he was nervous rather than relieved, for in one glance it was apparent he was to meet the mercenary who existed beneath Kirk's civility.

The storm in Jim's face did not break until he was nearly upon them. By then, his dark tone had pinpointed Leonard's would-be attacker. "You raise your sword only to me," he said.

Leonard spared only a brief second to contemplate his gratitude. A dagger, he knew, could not stand against a long blade no matter how experienced its wielder.

Heart thumping, he hurried to Kirk and re-planted his feet in a defensive stance at the man's side. The other men must have expected him to hide behind his champion because most of them lifted their eyebrows as he declared decisively, "We will take them together."

"No," said Jim. "Stand aside."

"Nay!"

"Do as I say, Leonard."

"Fool, who is in charge here?"

With an air of impatience the leader stuck his sword back into the ground and crossed his arms. To Jim, he said, "At our last parting, we agreed you would avoid my territory, Kirk."

Leonard lowered his fists out of confusion.

Jim's face lost its hard edge. He studied the other man for a moment then sheathed his dagger and stepped forward to extend a hand. They clasped forearms like soldier-brothers.

The prince felt his jaw unhinge. He recovered, grabbed the neck of Jim's tunic and bent him backwards. "What is this foolery—!"

"Ow, ow, ow!"

Leonard relented and let him go.

Jim pointed, naming each fellow, "Sulu. Mitchell. Scotty and... someone new?"

"Chekov!" supplied said new one. "You are Kirk? How exciting!" Indeed, the youth did look extremely excited to be meeting the rogue Jim Kirk.

"I didn't ask who they were!" Leonard bellowed. "How do you know them? Why would you—" He sucked in a breath all of a sudden, concluding the obvious much too late. "You brought us here... on purpose?"

Jim's blue eyes crinkled at the corners. "Maybe?"

The one named Scotty fixed his eye patch firmly back into place, drew out a small whittling knife and with it began to pick at his teeth. Since the confrontation had not come to bloody blows, Mitchell had turned his back on their group in order to inspect the mare's shoes. Chekov was trying to be inconspicuous in sidling up to Jim.

A fury slowly filled Leonard.

Something must have shown in his face because Jim lifted his hands in a conciliatory manner. "It's not as bad as it seems."

The prince made a fizzling noise.

"We're safe, I promise!"

Leonard could stand it no more. He exploded: "YOU MEASLE!" Latching back onto Jim, he gave the man a mean shake. "Y-You mammering, knotty-pated PUTTOCK! This is a bandit's den! _You have brought us to a bandit's den!_"

Scotty quit picking his teeth in order to say, "That's a mite harsh. We're more like... opportunistic wayfarers."

"_Thieves_," hissed Leonard.

"Eh, semantics." Scotty looked Kirk over. "So, where's yer Hawk? Out hunting?"

Jim gently pried the prince's tight fingers from his neck before he faced Sulu and Scotty. "Not hunting. Scouting. There's a party some ways behind us."

Sulu met this news with only a mild interest. "King's men?"

"Flesh-takers."

Each of Sulu's men stiffened and, following a pause, spat to the side as if to rid themselves of the foulness brought on by the mere word.

"Nasty buggers," muttered Scotty.

"We'll kill them, yes?" Chekov urged.

But Sulu grabbed his sword and swung it over his shoulder, turning away. "Not our problem."

Jim did not visibly react but Leonard could tell Jim was dismayed. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "Let 'em walk," he said. "I know a whiteliver when I see one."

Up ahead, Sulu stopped.

Scotty stared at Leonard as though he had sprouted a second head. Jim simply folded his arms and waited.

Leonard was actually very glad to be next to Kirk when Sulu rejoined their circle. He had heard of men who moved like Death but never seen it for himself until he experienced Sulu's deadly calm.

Sulu spoke evenly enough to make Leonard shiver. "Who is this man, Kirk?"

But the prince was no coward himself. He straightened to his full height. "I am Pr—"

Jim nudged him slightly.

"—Sir Leonard McCoy," he finished, skipping his rightful title and deflating somewhat by the end of his surname.

"McCoy," Sulu repeated, testing its sound. "If you would like to keep your tongue, I suggest you learn to hold it. You will not introduce slander among my men."

"Is it slander that has offended you so or truth?" countered the prince.

"Och, this one's a bit lumpish, isn't he?" Scotty whispered to the others.

"_Rybak rybaka vidit izdaleka._*"

Jim grinned all of a sudden, and Chekov puffed up with pride. Scotty frowned at them both.

"Ah," Chekov said slyly to Scotty, "l forget myself. I only meant that in my country there is a saying: for each wise man there are plenty of fools."

"Lad, why do I get the feelin' that isn't what you said at all?"

It was too late for the youth to look innocent but he attempted the feat anyway.

The mood had shifted with their by-play, and Jim took advantage of it as he spoke to Sulu. "Please forgive my friend. He is naturally offensive to others."

"I am not!"

"And surly," Jim added.

"You impertinent foot-licker!"

When a miffed Leonard tried to get at Jim to pinch some of his flesh, the man danced away.

"I take back from my doubts," decided Scotty, lifting his eye patch slightly so he could watch the antics of the two men. "This is entertaining. Besides," he contined on, sending a furtive look Sulu's way, "most times when someone's after Kirk the fellow has a very fat purse 'n I'm tired of supping on grub worms and rabbit stew."

Leonard stopped chasing Kirk. "Good fellow, I think that is a fine idea! You're bandits. _You_ go after Redjac."

Leonard was almost shocked when Mitchell repeated "Redjac?" because he had yet to hear the man speak, much less in such a sharp tone.

"Do you know him?" Sulu questioned.

Mitchell stole a glance at Jim, who was looking away. "Heard of him, Sir," he replied in a formal tone. Then he hesitated. "He's..."

"Scum," supplied Leonard. "He should be tried and hanged for his crimes."

"There'd be the matter of catching him first." Scotty considered Leonard. "Sounds to me like you've got a personal grievance."

"He did try to sell me."

"Ah, well then. That's understandable. So we should pursue this bastard for coin _and_ vengeance."

When Scotty looked to Sulu, Sulu nodded slightly. "We'll put it to a vote."

Chekov said at once, "Death, for justice!"

Mitchell shrugged as if to say _is there anything better to do?_

"Garrovick gets a vote," put in Scotty, "but as he's watchin' the horses I'll vote for 'im. We ride after Redjac."

Leonard found this process somewhat fascinating. He leaned toward Kirk. "Why should each bandit have a part in the decision-making when there is a leader?"

"Because Sulu's smart," replied Jim. "With outlaws, it is wiser to ask up-front who will stand with you in battle without deserting halfway through. Generally speaking, men with little to lose are not likely to lie about their shortcomings."

"Ah." Leonard thought he understood.

Jim turned to Sulu. "Who will you send?"

Mitchell came forward. "If they are no more than half a day's ride behind, I can circle them easily enough and return without being seen."

"Do it," ordered Sulu.

Mitchell left on foot, Leonard supposed, to retrieve a mount from the elusive Garrovick.

Jim waited until the bandit was out of sight before he moved to Sulu's side. "Why is he still here?"

"Where else would he go?" countered the other man, and that seemed to quiet Kirk for the time being.

Leonard shifted on his feet, as did the mare. He went to her, calmed her, and took her reins in hand. "Is it wise to stay in the open like this?"

"Definitely not," agreed Scotty. "We only came out for a bit of bait-and-hook when we noticed you comin'." He shook his head in a sad manner. "'Twas a failure, that." He glared at Chekov.

Sulu remarked mildly, "He's learning," and moved towards the mill. As Scotty passed Leonard, he took the reins of the mare. "Best put her with her kind. She won't like the dark."

Leonard raised his eyebrows at this cryptic remark and watched Sulu's men wander away. He found he wasn't quite so ready to follow them as he had thought.

Sighing, he let his gaze skim the open land. He heard Mitchell on a horse before he saw him riding off to the west at a fast clip.

Jim came to stand beside him. "Am I forgiven?"

"You have many things you need to be forgiven for. This is just another."

"All right."

It was the calm acceptance in Jim's voice that spurred Leonard to face him. "I do not understand you, Jim Kirk."

Jim smiled. "Not yet."

"You're an assuming man."

Jim crossed his arms. "I just know what I want—and believe I will get."

Leonard flushed hot and looked away.

They stood together in silence for a while longer before Jim spoke again. "You needn't feel on edge. We'll have warning."

Leonard shook his head slightly. "It's not that."

Kirk's expression softened suddenly, and he too gave the horizon a considering stare. He admitted, "I suppose I should worry about him more than I do."

"Likely you've known him long enough that you don't need to."

"So what's your excuse?"

That startled Leonard. "What?"

"Or," Jim added a bit slyly, "are you in fact unable to help yourself?"

"Surely you jest!" Leonard pursed his mouth. "Why would I waste my good sense on that varlet?"

"He does have a way of getting under one's skin."

"Like a disease," muttered the prince. Then he lifted his chin and spun about. "This is pointless. I will not converse with you about Spock!"

"If it pleases you, Your Highness." Jim was laughing at him again without actually laughing.

Leonard harrumphed and went on his way, telling himself he did not care if Jim Kirk followed him or not.

* * *

Wherever the bandits housed the horses and the donkey was not near the mill. That was just as well because the prince assumed the presence of the animals would ruin the illusion that the mill was abandoned.

Due to the small size of the structure, he did not think the bandits lived in it. Yet it was Chekov who stuck his head out of the open archway and beckoned Leonard inside. The interior of the mill was as decrepit as its exterior, if not moreso. Leonard pressed himself into a corner by the curve of a rotting staircase which led to a small square window situated at half the height of the windmill. In the darkness he could not see where Chekov had gotten to but that suited him fine; he could still smell the rankness of multiple unwashed bodies.

A scritching noise from his boot made him look down. A rat was stretching itself up his leg, its pink nose quivering.

Leonard jumped and gave his leg a shake, crying, "Off with you!"

The rat hurried into a gap between two fieldstones.

The prince closed his eyes as he locked his arms around himself, needing the moment to imagine himself elsewhere—back at his home, at his castle. But the vision swiftly dissipated; he saw instead his mother. He knew what she would say if she could see him. She had said it often enough to him when he was very young. It had been a lesson and a gentle chastisement whenever he had thrown a screaming fit, feeling wronged or betrayed over something trivial to an adult but not to a child. She had said to him: "Think on this moment that disappoints you so, Leonard. Is it truly worth the souring of your good character? Remember, events may be horrible or inescapable but men have always a choice—if not whether, then how, they may endure."

It took him until adulthood to understand her meaning fully, and now—now he had to choose how he endured.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. The prince opened his eyes.

"C'mon" was all Jim said.

His companion shadows in the dark mill had disappeared, though Leonard could not figure out how where the bandits had gone without moving past him on their way out. Then he saw it, the opening which had been quite cleverly concealed by several old grain sacks. They passed through it to an underground chamber that had likely been a store-house for the mill. It had a bit of crude flooring and smelled faintly wet.

"Our home is very much a den," said a proud Scotty as Leonard stepped into the long room.

Jim patted the bandit's shoulder as he moved past them both.

Leonard looked about. "I would have thought your ilk preferred open spaces."

"We do sometimes. It depends on the season. Rain makes for a chilly bed companion."

Leonard gave Scotty a skeptical look. "It's summer."

"Aye," agreed the too-cheerful man, "that it is!"

He gave up on making sense of this particular loggerhead and went after Jim, who was watching Chekov create a pile of rocks.

Not rocks, Leonard realized, but lumps of coal used in a smithy's oven. "Surely you can't mean to light a fire in here!" he said, aghast.

Chekov blinked at him. "_Da._ Who vants a cold supper?"

"NO ONE!" Scotty hollered across the room.

With a practiced hand, the young man gave three strikes to a flint over a little puff of wool. It began to smoke, then flame.

"There is no airflow in here," Leonard complained to Jim. "Surely you can see that. The smoke has nowhere to go!"

"That's the point. Lighting a fire above ground would give away our position."

"Don't you know smoke induces coughing fits and poor health of the lungs?"

"Ooh, is that why my chest gets raspy?"

The unexpectedness of hearing a voice directly behind him nearly made Leonard's heart stop. He turned and glared at Scotty, who had sneaked up on him. "You, sir, are a menace!"

Jim placed a hand over his mouth but it did nothing to muffle his laughter.

"And you _are_ surly," Scotty replied amiably.

Jim just shook his head, gave Leonard a quick grin, and excused himself to speak with Sulu.

Leonard did not want to appear desperate for the company of the only person he marginally trusted, so he found an uncluttered spot along a dirt wall and sat down to sulk. To his dismay, he was joined.

"Did I offend ye?"

"Won't you go away?" the prince muttered. Then, resigned to his fate, "If I am surly, then it is that knave Kirk who is at fault. I was a pleasant man before I was kidnapped."

"That sounds like an interesting tale, lad. Who kidnapped you?"

"Jim did," Leonard replied without thinking. He immediately regretted it.

Scotty sat back and let out a low whistle. "Master Kirk? Now this I have to hear in detail!" But rather than asking the prince anything further, he called out, "Jim! Jim, did ye kidnap this poor man?"

It was Chekov who came scurrying over, abandoning his watch over the fire. "Who is kidnapped? Are we kidnappers now?"

"Don't sound so excited about it," grumbled Leonard. He hunched in on himself when Jim and Sulu joined them.

But Jim didn't look angry. "Is someone talking about me?"

"Leonard here says you stole him for cheap labor."

Leonard cried foul and kicked at Scotty's leg.

"Cheap he is not. He cost me a gold coin."

"That was my coin, you purse-thief!"

Everyone except Kirk considered Leonard with varying degrees of interest and greed.

"Gold?" said Scotty.

"Gold!" cried Chekov.

"What manner of person did you steal, Kirk?" Sulu wondered. "Is he an duke's son? A favored courtier of a queen?"

Leonard felt himself turning red.

Jim leaned in to push a lock of brown hair out of the prince's eyes, replying fondly, "He's a healer."

Scotty and Chekov made the same noise of disappointment. Sulu nodded but Leonard had an inkling the man thought Kirk was lying.

Scotty stuck his foot out. "Healing's not such a bad profession, I guess. Here, take a look at this." He bent over to unlace his boot, mumbling to himself.

Leonard caught the words _weird growth_ and _toes_ and insisted, "No, no, I'm not that skilled!" He stood up and almost fell over in his haste to put some distance between himself and the loose-witted bandit.

Jim caught and steadied him.

"Do not let that man's foot come near me," he said to Kirk.

Smiling, Jim slid an arm around his back and led him to the opposite side of the den.

* * *

Mitchell returned with good news.

"I could not see them," he reported. "Mayhap they've given up the chase?"

Sulu looked to Jim.

Jim did not appear to like this good news as much as Leonard did, for he said, "No man lays aside revenge so easily."

"Cannae disagree with that," said Scotty.

Leonard spoke up. "Then what of Spock? Was he not nearby?"

Mitchell shook his head.

"It could be he led them astray so that we might escape," the prince speculated. "Isn't that possible?"

Jim pressed his mouth into a dissatisfied line but gave a nod of acknowledgement anyway.

Sulu told Mitchell to take over tending the fire which Leonard suspected was a superfluous reason to allow the man rest after his excursion. To Jim, Sulu said, "There is still some sun left but not enough that I care to risk coming upon a swordsman near dark. You can move on, or wait through the night here. The choice is yours."

"We'll stay."

Leonard could guess why Jim chose as he did, and he could not fault the man for it; it seemed Jim had an inclination to worry about Spock after all.

Resigned to the fact that he would have to spend more hours fending off Scotty's attempts to persuade him to diagnose his numerous ailments, Leonard went to the fire where Mitchell sat and stared glumly at the glowing coals. He had expected they would both have a desire for silence. He was wrong.

Mitchell remarked, "Leonard, is it?"

The prince dipped in his head.

"How long have you been... riding with Jim?"

He remembered then that Mitchell had not been present when he revealed the ordeal of his kidnapping. Counting on his fingers, Leonard came up to seven. "A week," he said, sighing.

Mitchell considered him for a long moment, before fixing his gaze on the small pot hanging over the coals where a stew of some sort occasionally popped a bubble. "Not long enough, then."

"What's that mean?"

"You know what he does?"

"If you mean that he's a sword for hire, the answer is yes."

Mitchell met his eyes again. "And do know what kind of man he is?"

Leonard raised his eyebrows and stared as if to say _you tell me_.

Mitchell smiled at him without much humor. "I guess that was a bad question. The man he is now and the man he used to be are vastly different."

This caught Leonard's interest. "So you've known him quite a while."

"We grew up together."

_Then why do you speak his name as if you loathe his existence?_

Instead of saying that, Leonard picked at his thumbnail in an idle fashion. "I honestly have no need to hear of his past. We won't be together much longer."

That had been the response Mitchell did not anticipate; Leonard saw it first in his eyes and then in his faint sneer.

Mitchell stood abruptly and left him alone.

Leonard twisted around to find Jim behind him. He couldn't tell if the man was displeased or not, so he pointed at the stew and said, "What is this maw-wallop?"

Jim's gaze shifted to the pot and lightened. "Don't know. Who made it?"

"I thought that little brat did."

"Let's hope so, Bones, because Scotty only knows how to cook rat."

Leonard drew his brows together. "Who is Bones?"

The man gave a soft, amused huff. "I don't know that either." Then he turned and moved away.

The prince stared after him for a long time.

* * *

Leonard had some of the stew which to his blatant relief consisted mostly of turnips and mushy barley. Having a filled belly had the effect of making him drowsy. He dozed in stops and starts, until at last Jim threw a horse blanket over his legs and bade him sleep.

Leonard told him no.

"Did you give your servants this much trouble?"

Leonard forced one of his eyes open so he could glare at Kirk as he retorted, "Only the bad ones."

Jim settled cross-legged next to him. "Go to sleep, Bones."

"Why are you calling me that? I don't like that name."

"But you have so many bones to pick with me, what else would suit you?"

"Do you know what suits _you?_"

"Flax-wench?"

Jim was at the wrong angle for Leonard to kick his shin. "Never mind!" he grumped and laid down to roll himself into the blanket. "When I wake up, you will be gone and I will be where I have been all along, in my bed in my castle because this has been a terrible figment of my imagination!" He faced the wall.

Breath ghosted against the hair above his ear. "Bones?"

Leonard set his teeth and refused to answer.

"Booones?"

He had to pull the end of the blanket over his head.

A weight landed against his shoulder. He thought it was Jim's hand but when Jim mumbled "I'm sorry" into the blanket he realized it was Jim's head.

He couldn't say anything then if he wanted to. His mouth was dry, and his heart was pounding.

Eventually, after he had feigned sleep long enough, the weight lifted and Jim went away. It was ridiculous, of course, that Leonard missed him.

* * *

He didn't know who had eavesdropped or what had been said, but Leonard woke up groggily to the sight of his least favorite bandit leaning over him.

"A prince!" exclaimed Scotty.

Leonard snapped to full awareness. When he tried to extricate himself from his blanket, he found that Scotty had planted a knee on it to keep him trapped. Up close, it looked like the man was salivating.

"A real _live_ prince!" Scotty said again.

Had the man only seen dead ones until now? That was a frightening thought for Leonard. He struggled all the more to get out of his blanket prison. "Begone!" he cried, partly in desperation, when Scotty tsked and tucked the blanket more firmly around his chin.

"Och, calm yerself now, little princie! We don't want ye catchin' a chill!"

"Jim!" Leonard shouted once, then more loudly, "JIM!"

Jim did not appear, and that set Leonard close to panicking. He envisioned that the bandits had killed him while he slept and dragged away the body.

Or put him in day's stew.

There was nothing for it: Leonard rocked back and forth until he could gain momentum and then swung up to crack his head into Scotty's grinning face. The man fell back with a cry of "My nose!"

Leonard quickly divested himself of the horse blanket and scrambled to his feet. He made it halfway to the exit before its door suddenly swung inward of its own accord.

Chekov stuck his face in through the hole. His eyes lit up when he saw Leonard. "Ze prince is awake!"

Leonard barreled through the opening like his life depended on it, knocking Chekov out of the way. He should have expected the young man to recover quickly and pursue him.

They broke free of the mill at the same time. Leonard had a single glance to judge the lay of the light and determine that it was early morning before he was set upon.

He and Chekov went rolling sideways in a tangle of limbs through the dirt.

Chekov staggered to his feet first and produced a thin pick-blade from a sleeve. He prodded at the air near Leonard, saying gleefully, "What ransom can we get?"

Leonard bared his teeth. "Boy, if you come within spitting distance of me, I'll knock you straight back into your mother's womb!"

"But—"

Leonard jumped towards him, and to his surprise the youth went skittering back with wide eyes. He had dropped his knife.

Leonard set his boot on it and narrowed his eyes. "Who told you I was a prince?"

Chekov only shook his head and threw up his hands, still yet backing farther away.

"_Who?_"

"Bones?"

Leonard whirled around to find Jim moving toward him, blinking owlishly in the daylight. The man was clean-shaven and his hair was wet.

"You!" Leonard hissed at him. "You! I can't even _think_ of a proper obscenity to describe you!"

Jim looked confused. "Did I do something?"

"How dare you tell them I'm a—"

"Kirk?" came Sulu's voice, interrupting them.

Jim gave Leonard a final puzzling glance before he called back, "Here! What is it?"

The subtle grief in Sulu's expression caused Leonard's stomach to drop.

"Garrovick's dead," Sulu told them.

Chekov turned pale.

Leonard had not once seen this Garrovick of whom Sulu spoke, but he had to assume the death of a comrade meant something to the bandits.

"What happened?" Jim demanded.

"Drowned in the river."

"There's a river?" Leonard asked, surprised.

"Farther south, where the horses are," replied Jim dismissively. "How?"

"Don't know," said Sulu, the tightness around his eyes saying more about how he felt than his tone. "It could've been a slip or a deliberate push. He was unmarked." Sulu looked away. "Garrovick... was a good man."

"I'm sorry," Jim said.

Leonard didn't realize Chekov had disappeared until he looked over to the mill and saw him coming out with Scotty. Scotty was cupping his nose with a hand; he was as pale as Chekov and likely not from his nosebleed.

Sulu questioned him sharply, "What happened to you?"

The bandit lowered his gaze, murmuring, "Nothin'. Bit of foolin' around."

Leonard didn't like that he sounded ashamed. "We brangled."

Sulu's mouth thinned in anger.

"He started it," Leonard went on to say. "I don't do well when I'm woken unexpectedly."

"All's forgiven and forgotten," Scotty said quickly, coming forward. "Garrovick's the one who's dead. Who got him? Do we know?"

"No."

Scotty swore an oath.

Leonard noticed who was missing, then. "Where's Mitchell?"

Sulu answered. "Saddling the horses. We're moving camp." He exchanged a look with Kirk.

Leonard interpreted it as "You think this was the hand of Redjac?"

Jim shook his head slightly. "Best not to find out, Bones."

"Jim..."

Kirk turned away, as did the other men, at the sight of Mitchell leading the horses in a line towards the mill.

Leonard closed his eyes in frustration. There was something underfoot, he felt, but he couldn't grasp at what it was. Was Garrovick's the act of something sinister? If so, who had done it, and more importantly _why?_

Surely they would have been waylaid already if Redjac and his men were roaming about. No, none of it made sense, and leaving as they planned seemed like... following a path to something worse.

Because he couldn't give voice to what he didn't know, he remained frustration and paced a distance away from the others.

His life was not simple anymore. It wasn't time spent making salves for scrapped knees and letter-writing to dignitaries; it wasn't hours of reading by candlelight and taking meals when he wanted them.

This was violence and avarice, death and deception.

He truly wanted no part in it but like a babe that opened its eyes for the first time, he could not return to the darkness.

He stole a glance at Jim who was untying the mare's lead from the other horses and wondered how anyone could make peace with such a world.

Jim must have perceived his regard because he cast a quick look in Leonard's direction and offered up a small smile. Leonard could tell his heart wasn't in it, however.

Where would they go? he thought to himself. South, still, or try another path? And could they go on when there was one missing?

As if the thought had conjured it, a tiny shadow-figure appeared on the horizon.

Leonard gasped out, "Look!" He raised his voice for Jim to hear. "_Look there!_ Jim, it's Spock! I think it's—"

From one second to the next the prince's hope became dread. What he assumed had been in error: the figure was just the stallion, the one which had borne Spock from his kingdom, running wild and riderless through the grass.

_No_, Leonard thought.

Having heard the cry, Jim brushed past him, slowed, stopped one or two steps ahead—and went absolutely still.

Feeling sick, Leonard approached him.

There was no color left in the man's face. His eyes were wide and slightly shock-glazed. Leonard grabbed at his hand and called his name.

Jim released a breath, following it with a strange keening sound in the back of his throat. Leonard turned to look again in hopes he had been wrong.

A second horse had appeared in the interim. This one bore a rider. The man and horse neither came forward nor moved back, just simply stood still upon the rise.

Leonard hardly needed to think. He just knew.

So Jim did too. He spun around and ran. Leonard couldn't catch up to him before he had a foot in one of the mare's stirrups.

"You can't!" Leonard cried. "It's a trap!"

The others had stirred from various places, were gathering around them.

Leonard made a grab for the reins but Jim wheeled the horse around too quickly.

"Jim!" he said, frightened.

"What's going on?" Sulu barked, striding over to them with one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Spock," Kirk said in a chilling flatness. "They have him."

There was no other choice. Jim wouldn't listen to reason, and Leonard couldn't let the witless fool go alone. "Bring me a horse!" he snapped out to those standing about and gawking.

Jim took a deep breath like he had just cleared water and turned to stare at the prince. "No," he said, iron in his voice, "you'll stay here."

"Like hell! You're going to get yourself killed!"

"STAY HERE!" Jim shouted at him abruptly, eyes blazing. He dug his heels into the mare's sides and she jerked.

A whistle cut the air between them. As Kirk's glare whipped around to Sulu, Sulu unbuckled his sword—sheath and all—and tossed it to the man. "Better to have a proper weapon for a fight on horseback."

Kirk nodded once, and then the mare took off across the field at a run.

The prince cursed and flung himself upon the nearest person—who happened to be Chekov. "Give me a horse this instant!"

Sulu grabbed Leonard by the neck of his tunic and shoved him none-too-gently off of the young man. "Scotty, watch him. Pavel, bring me another sword and arm yourself. Gary, with me. We'll take three geldings. And _you_," he spoke before Leonard could protest, "will do nothing foolish."

"Who are you to give me orders?" spat Leonard.

"Someone who knows the difference between a battlefield and a dueling ring—so listen closely, McCoy: do you want Kirk to save his man?"

"Yes."

"Then you will do more harm than good if you follow him. You would force him to choose."

Leonard did not like that Sulu was right but he nodded his understanding anyway.

Sulu released him. When Chekov returned and they were all bearing weapons—sword, spear, and bludgeon—the three bandits mounted to follow in Kirk's wake.

Leonard felt helpless standing there. Then Sulu surprised him; he wheeled his horse about, gave him a salute and drew his sword.

The prince laid a fist over his heart. "Our hopes ride with you. Fare thee well."

The men spurred their horses and then were gone.

* * *

_Rybak rybaka vidit izdaleka._ - literally "A fisherman can tell another fisherman from afar" or as it said more commonly - It takes one to know one.


	6. Part Six

**Please be certain you have read the previous chapter. Warning for violence.**

* * *

Scotty had hustled the prince back to a relative corner of the mill for safe-keeping. "Don't look so glum," he said. "This isn't the world ending."

"You should've gone with them."

"It is always better when somebody stays behind in these situations. Otherwise who'll bury the dead later if need be?"

Leonard thought that was a rather morbid outlook on life. "So you _aren't_ keeping watch over me?"

"Well..." Scotty scuffed a boot in the dirt. "You do have the look of a man fixing to make some trouble. And I was given my orders."

Crossing his arms, the prince huffed. "Sulu and Kirk... they're much too at ease with issuing orders!"

The bandit started laughing.

"I made no joke!"

"That sounded like one to me, Sir Prince! You've done nothing but _order this_ and _order that_ since you showed up!"

"I'm—" Leonard stopped from saying _a prince_ and gave it some thought first. "—entitled," he finished a little lamely.

"You're just brought up to think you are."

His brows came down. "Are you... Are you implying I am _spoiled?_"

Scotty held up his thumb and forefinger with only a tiny space between them.

"I am not!"

"We'll ask Kirk when he gets back."

"Let's not," snapped the prince. "I have a bone to pick with him."

"Oh, aye. Is that why he calls you Bones?"

"If you start that, I will skin you alive."

"I wasn't planning to, believe me, lad—threats or no threats." Scotty shivered and turned away.

"Wait," Leonard said to him. "I do have an idea."

The bandit sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"It's an important idea."

"I'm listening."

"Spock... Spock could be alive, but Jim might not find him before..."

Scotty nodded, his expression serious. "So you want to find Spock first so that Redjac doesn't kill him to drive Kirk mad?" he guessed.

"Yes, essentially."

"That is a bad plan."

"It doesn't matter whether it's bad or good, only that it's important."

"Why," the man wanted to know, "is Kirk's Hawk important to you?"

Leonard opened his mouth but found he had no immediate answer. He swallowed and hedged, "He's important to Jim."

Scotty didn't look convinced but he also did not pursue the matter. He only said, strangely enough, "If you belong to Kirk, he won't leave you behind, that's for certain."

Leonard considered this, and something Jim had said to him once. "He feels his responsibilities keenly, I understand."

The man nodded. "He does. In his nature, I suppose." Then he blew out a loud breath. "All right. If we're going to do this fool thing, we need weapons—_lots_ of weapons—and a mount."

"You've another horse, don't you?" Leonard pointed out, remembering vaguely that there had been at least five of them in a single file from the river.

But Scotty made a face. "Yea and nay."

"Well, it can't be both, man!"

Scotty beckoned for the prince to follow him to the spot where the horses had been tethered next to the mill. The donkey was there—and so was another horse. A female, he saw right away, and bony. Much too bony. He wondered why they weren't feeding her well when the other horses had looked to be in good condition.

"She was Garrovick's favorite," the bandit said, approaching the mare to lay a hand on her flank.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing but age."

Leonard noticed then some of the spots where the color of her coat had faded.

"Don't think she's got many years left in 'er, honestly, but the lad wouldn't hear talk of putting her down. She doesn't carry anything heavy if can be managed."

"So she couldn't bear two full-grown men."

"No," Scotty acknowledged. "Now this one," he indicated the donkey chewing a mouthful of grass, "he may be small but he's sturdy!"

Leonard was dismayed. "I am not riding a donkey."

"Then you'll be walkin'."

"But donkeys are slow!"

"That's a sad misconception you've got there, princie. They're not slow—they're as fast as they want to be."

Leonard didn't see the difference.

"But," Scotty said, looking mischievous all of sudden, "I've got a trick." He ambled over to a sack on the ground and pulled out something.

"A carrot?" the prince questioned dubiously.

Scotty grinned. "Aye, a carrot!"

* * *

Leonard felt this was rather embarrassing but didn't want to admit so out loud. He honestly hoped no one saw him in his current predicament.

The donkey clip-clopped at quite a jaunty pace through the high grass. Every so often, the donkey shook its head vigorously and gave a snap-snap-snap of its wide teeth, as if it couldn't believe it had yet to reach the carrot dangling in front of its face.

That would set Scotty to giggling like a little child, who would then drop the carrot lower before the donkey to entice him to "hurry up 'n get that dang carrot!"

Never again, Leonard swore, would he believe a bandit when said bandit claimed to have an ingenious plan!

At least they had thought to bring along a few of the leftover weapons. Leonard had put a small dagger in his boot but otherwise left the bigger items attached to the donkey's saddle. Scotty rode in front of him with a quiver of arrows and bow slung over his back.

A mile from the windmill they topped the rise, swung right along the slope, and began their drop to lower ground.

"There!" Leonard called to Scotty, pointing towards a thin cloud of smoke hovering above a small gathering of young trees. When they were close enough to see the remnants of a fire by the copse edge, a guard came out of the trees on horseback.

Scotty sucked in a breath and, before Leonard could think to ask what he was about, had loaded his long bow and taken aim. That man too had a bow-and-arrow but he was not quick enough to dispatch his before Scotty fired. The man's horse broke its gallop and reared in fright, throwing the struck man to the ground.

They reached the fellow in time to find him struggling against his own blood to breathe. The arrow had pierced his throat at a severe angle but had not broken the neck bone. As Leonard knelt down, he saw there was nothing that could be done to save him. He pulled out his dagger and, holding it aloft in one trembling hand, saw the undisguised fear in the guard's eyes.

He hesitated too long. Scotty took the blade from him and killed the man.

"Better to do it quick 'fore they have time to think too much," he said afterwards, wiping the dagger clean on his sleeve.

"If you hadn't shot him, he wouldn't have died."

Scotty gave him a frank stare. "Twas him or us, Prince." He turned away to consider the spooked horse. "She will never let us catch her."

Swiftly, regretfully, Leonard rose from the body. "It matters naught. It is not a horse we are after."

They were close to the skirmish between Redjac and Kirk. Leonard could hear it: the shouts, the ring of weapons being drawn, the squeals of horses jerked around and spurred forward. Once in a while he saw a rider swing up to the top of the rise before rushing down its side again. Then he forgot about the danger altogether as he spied a figure half-hidden in the shade of a tree.

Redjac had left him slumped against the trunk, or he had dragged himself there from wherever else he had been kept. There was no way to know.

Leonard did not remember shouting or running. He only knew as he touched Spock and the man half-collapsed across his lap that by some miracle he was not dead. Scotty had started to follow but stopped for some reason and turned about in a circle with a nervous air.

"You fool!" Leonard chastised Spock softly, cupping one pale cheek.

The pulse was thready and weak. Worse yet, the skin was sweat-slick with fever.

A sudden grief took a hold of Leonard. He wanted to yell at Spock for letting this happen, for not trusting him to care for his wound. Instead Spock had undertaken this dangerous mission when he was already at risk. Had Redjac captured him before or after the infection had set in?

"You utter fool," he said again, and with his thumb swiped away the dirt from a cheekbone.

Spock stirred at the touch.

"It's all right," Leonard told him gently. "You're safe now."

Conscious or nearly unconscious, Spock seemed to care nothing for himself. He made a weak attempt at getting up and, realizing that he could not, whispered Jim's name.

Leonard gripped his shoulders to hold him still. "Hush," he ordered, "and let me help you."

Spock stubbornly pushed at the prince's hands.

Leonard said the man's name with both exasperation and concern. "You are ill, and you are in pain! It does no good to injury yourself further."

Spock had slit his eyes as if he had a difficult time keeping them open. "Jim... is not... safe."

"Jim Kirk is the Devil himself. He will survive." Leonard began to lift the edge of Spock's bloody tunic. When the man's fingers caught his wrist in the act, Leonard only said, "Let me" and the hand reluctantly released him.

Then he peeled back the shirt and examined the wound on the left side. It was a gash that ran from the hipbone to the end of the lowest rib but was not deep in the flesh, like Spock had twisted nearly out of a sword's reach. Still, the gash would have bled profusely if not stitched. Spock's blood-stiffened clothes were a testament to the fact.

He knew then that Spock was going to die if he laid here much longer.

The prince's lips went tight with anger as he thought of Redjac discarding the man so easily.

"C'mon," he muttered, "up," and slid an arm under Spock's shoulders. He grunted from the effort of lifting the man, who was far heavier than he looked. Having little choice, the prince barked out Scotty's name and told him to abandon the lookout so they could situate Spock on the donkey.

Scotty made a face at seeing Spock's weeping stomach wound. "Though I could say I've seen worse, he's in a bad way. You're sure you can heal him?"

"I'll try."

"That's not reassuring."

"By Christ's blood, would you shut up and _lift him_ already? And mind his wound!"

"Quit fussin'!" the man puffed. "Urgh, my back... He's as bloated as a week-old corpse!"

"I do not... thank you for... that comparison, Sir Scott."

"Ah ha! So you _aren't_ dead!"

"It... would seem so."

Leonard ignored this reunion of Spock and Scotty and circled around to the donkey's head. "Listen up, you mangy beast," he said to it in his sternest tone. "I'll have no disobedience from you!"

"Hey," complained Scotty, coming to the donkey's defense, "you can't speak to Keenser that way!"

"I will speak to this donkey however I please—and you had better lead him well. Do not let him throw Spock!"

Scotty's expression changed. "Then you mean to stay behind?"

Leonard cast about and pointed. "I'll catch that horse!"

"You must be mad!"

"Even a stout-footed donkey cannot carry three men," the prince reminded the bandit firmly.

"Then I'll stay. Ye gods, I'd be a dead man walking if I left you behind!"

"Nonsense!"

"You're right—there's no sense about it. Kirk is that smitten."

Leonard opened and closed his mouth.

They both turned at Spock's weak cough, who clutched at the saddle's pommel and said, "I can... walk."

This annoyed Leonard greatly. "Shut up, Spock. We're saving you."

Scotty went around to the donkey's opposite side and drew out a long blade from a side sack. "Here, at least carry this."

Leonard took it with reluctance. "Scotty—" He swallowed. "Scotty, I cannot kill a man."

"You only think you can't," the bandit said. "Never mind. Just take it. If Kirk is after my head, at least I can argue him down to a hand or a foot by sayin' you were armed before I deserted you."

Leonard's grip tightened on the sword hilt. "You are not a deserter, Sir Scott. This is a direct order from a man of royal lineage: leave me."

Spock tried to slide sideways out of the saddle but Scotty mounted behind him and righted him again. "Don't think about it," he warned. "If I left you _both_, I'd have to change my name, my face, cut off my balls and live as a woman. Even then, he'd find me."

Leonard choked back a laugh but quickly sobered. "Waste no more time with your idle chat. I will not go back on my decision."

"Fine, you daft bastard." The bandit pulled at Keenser's reins and turned the donkey about with agonizing slowness. "We're going, we're—"

"_Hikaru! Look out!_"

A scream, not a shout. Chekov's voice. Wheeling, Leonard saw why. At the top of the rise, one of Redjac's men just beaten back Mitchell, and was continuing a fighting withdrawal towards a clump of bushes where Sulu was staggering to his feet beside a slain horse. What the prince didn't see was the man who had flanked wide to the east and was now rushing towards the three of them from behind.

It was Spock who noticed him and cried Leonard's name.

Leonard jerked the sword around in a wide sweeping arc, and the man ducked under it, lifting a crossbow. The target was not Leonard, but Spock.

The prince froze. In the blink of an eye, he followed out the rest of the inevitable consequences and, very slowly, lowered the tip of the blade.

The crossbowman motioned him to throw down his weapon.

Spock's knuckles turned white against the pommel. At his back, Scotty had neither moved nor apparently dared to breathe.

Leonard released the sword. It clattered to the ground.

The crossbowman smiled, and the prince realized he was going to kill Spock anyway.

Then there was a sound, a whistling, and a flash of sunlight on metal. In the next instant, Redjac's man staggered to the side and collapsed, giving them all an excellent view of a familiar hilt protruding from his upper back.

Leonard gaped and turned in the direction from whence the dagger had come. Jim stood in his stirrups, red with exertion and fury. His hair was matted with blood on one side, and there was a spray of it across his face which could not have been his own.

"_Jim_," Spock said, almost brokenly, lifting up a hand.

Jim and the mare came the rest of the way to them.

No one stopped Spock this time from dismounting. Wherever the man had found the strength, Leonard applauded him for not collapsing the moment his boots hit the ground.

One moment Kirk and Spock were separated by a small distance; the next moment they were not. Jim held onto Spock more tightly than Spock held onto him but it spoke volumes, Leonard thought, when Spock leaned down to rest his forehead on Kirk's shoulder.

The prince dropped his gaze so he wasn't staring outright. Slowly, cautiously, he made his way over to them.

Jim spotted him first.

"He needs careful handling," Leonard said. "He's fevered."

Jim dropped a hand to the back of Spock's neck and gave a slight nod. Then he shifted Spock's weight, to bear most of it, which meant the man had all but fainted against him.

Leonard retrieved the mare, murmuring a word or two about how glad he was that she still lived, and led her over to the men. "Redjac?" he questioned when he was close enough.

Jim's expression tightened. "Missing. But his men are captured or... slain." He winced as if he hated to say the word to Leonard.

Leonard ducked his head. "Let's get your man on this horse. Don't take him back to the mill. Head for a town with an apothecary."

"Bones..."

"I'll return with Scotty."

Jim leaned Spock against the horse but looked like he did not want to let the man go yet at the same time desired to reach for McCoy. "_Bones_."

"Please don't argue with me this time, Jim," Leonard insisted, voice strained as he looked up. "If you let Spock die, I'll never forgive you."

Jim swallowed hard but reluctantly nodded. "Sulu will—Sulu needs you, I think. Stay with him._Promise me that_, Leonard."

Leonard promised.

Jim turned to Spock and stroked his face, then leaned in and spoke into his ear.

Spock gave the faintest of nods without opening his eyes. Together they managed to help him mount the horse. Jim swung up into the saddle behind Spock.

He didn't ride anyway as quickly as Leonard expected him to and once—just once—Jim twisted around in the saddle and glanced back at him.

Leonard's heart hurt.

And it also trembled just briefly with happiness.

* * *

Jim had been correct in that Sulu needed Leonard.

"Keep him down," the prince told Chekov and Scotty.

Sulu wasn't saying much now but as soon as they began to put his shoulder back into place, he would be cursing in their faces and trying to buck them off like a wild beast.

Leonard pressed his mouth into a thin line, gently positioned his hands at the right places—and jerked the arm.

Sulu came up off the ground as the joint made a sickening _pop_.

His curses were impressively vicious, thought Leonard.

"There," he said when the man went white and slack under them. "All done. How's it feel?"

Sulu formed a pitiful fist and said, "Fine."

Leonard let out a low laugh. "You mean, weak. Any numbness?"

"No."

"We'll stabilize the arm, so try not to jar it for the next week at least."

Sulu grimaced. "I have to bear my sword."

"Learn to use the other arm, then," Leonard said without sympathy.

Sulu eyed him. "You are not a pleasant healer."

"Have _you_ ever met a pleasant one?"

Wisely the man did not answer that.

Leonard spent the next half-hour binding Sulu's arm; it was a slower process than it should have been because Chekov kept getting in the way each time Sulu winced. At last Leonard had to order Scotty to drag the young man off and put him to work doing something more useful than hovering.

"The boy likes you," he remarked to Sulu when they were alone.

"He's too young not to know when he should and should not be loyal."

Leonard observed Sulu with interest. "You're young yourself to be so cynical."

Sulu just stared at him.

The prince made a _hmph_ and rolled up the extra linen he didn't use to store for later. Then he set it aside and dropped his hands to his knees. He wanted to know, "Why aren't you protesting my stay? Kirk's gone, so you don't have to allow it."

"Kirk being gone means nothing. I'm down a man, and you're tolerable. It's an easy decision to make."

He wasn't entirely convinced. "Most of the time you look like you want to run me through. Why is that, by the way?"

Sulu met his gaze and held it. "You're too soft for this life."

"I know that," Leonard answered quietly. "But I don't see how I have a choice anymore."

"What if you return to your kingdom?"

"I die."

Sulu dipped his chin. "That is a misfortune—but one you might not share alone. You should consider that, Prince."

Leonard tried to ask what he meant but Sulu ignored him and left their conversation unfinished.

* * *

Chekov was friendlier, Scotty was less manic, and Sulu had revealed that he had layers (and additional mysteries) beneath his tightly controlled exterior. But Mitchell left Leonard pitch-kettled: he was surlier now with Kirk gone than he had been when Jim was around.

That didn't leave the prince feeling good about his predicament at all.

The day of the battle with Redjac's men was quickly waning, and Leonard had to figure out where he fit into Sulu's band of men. He knew he should think of it as temporary but something told him it could just as easily became permanent. After all, he had no good reason to assume Jim would return with Spock.

Except, his traitorous brain pointed out, the way Jim had turned back to look at him.

Leonard shook that thought off as a dog trying to rid itself of a flea. Unfortunately it kept coming back to bite him.

"Damn it," he fussed at himself, and scrubbed at his face.

When his hands came away dirtier, he scowled in disgust and made the announcement that he wanted to bathe.

"Where?" Scotty replied, looking about then pointing at the horses. "In the trough bucket?"

"The river, you fool," the prince shot back and started in that direction. He stopped, of course, when he realized he had never been to the river and therefore did not know how to get there.

Sulu rose from a bale of hay where he had sat down some time ago, looking tired and gray, and said, "We'll all go."

Chekov smelled himself.

Scotty muttered that water was evil.

Mitchell wordlessly stalked off ahead of them.

To Leonard's dismay, the river was more akin to a little creek. It went no deeper than the ankle of his boots. "Garrovick drowned in this?" he muttered to himself as he waded out to the middle. He was crouched, splashing water over his face and neck and into his tunic when someone gave him a shove from behind that almost toppled him over.

"Hey, you!" he snarled.

Chekov dropped into a frog-squat beside him. "Pavel," the youth said.

"Hey, you, _Pavel_," Leonard amended, "didn't I warn you to keep away from me?"

"But I no longer want to ransom you!"

"Wonderful," muttered McCoy. "Now hop along."

The young man blinked at him.

Leonard went back to ridding himself of his filth and ignored the annoying man.

"We must bury our friend," Chekov said suddenly, still watching the prince. "Already ze animals bother him."

Leonard wondered if Chekov was trying to ask for something without outright asking for it. "What do you need?" he questioned.

Blue eyes skipped past him and wandered to the edges of the creek. All at once they looked much too old to belong in such a young face.

"I'm sorry you lost him," said the prince. "I've... known death before, with my family. It isn't a good, or simple, feeling."

"He was not my family."

"But he might have been your friend. Friends are family too."

Chekov looked at him again. "Do you remember your family?"

"Yes."

"Do they remember you?"

That seemed a strange question but Leonard again answered positively.

"Sometimes family does not want to remember." He gave a small nod, as if affirming something with himself. "But it is good what you said about friends. Friends you choose for yourself." Chekov offered him a bright smile then. "I choose you, my prince!"

Leonard said hesitantly and with no small amount of apprehension, "Thank you?"

"Come," the young man beckoned him, splashing a little water at Leonard in the process, "we bury our friend Garrovick!"

Leonard watched Chekov wade out of the creek, and after some thought followed him.

* * *

The burial ceremony was solemn only in that Chekov hummed a dirge and Scotty had drawn the leather patch back over his eye—this time the opposite one. They looked to Leonard to say a prayer for the man's soul and he was fairly certain he botched it when he murmured, "It is said he was a good man but by trade he was also a bandit and so, Great Lord, I doubt you will meet him in Heaven. Amen."

There was no point in making a grave when they had no tools for digging. They debated at length on burning the corpse on a pyre (which would require effort to build) versus piling stones upon him (which would also require effort); and at one point Scotty tried to roll Garrovick into the creek to "float him on the Styx."

"First of all," Leonard remarked, "I am duly shocked that you are learned, Scotty, particularly in Greek mythology, and secondly that creek is too shallow to float anything but an actual stick."

"Then we make him into the size of sticks and float all of him."

"Clearly you are not learned in _logic_," muttered the prince.

Sulu settled the affair by bring a small skin from the donkey which Leonard soon discovered contained a yellowish oil. He poured it over Garrovick and had Chekov set a flame to him. They all crossed themselves and watched for a while to make certain the fire did not spread through the grass, except for Mitchell who had been keeping at a distance since they arrived at the river.

"What ails him?" Leonard asked Sulu.

"Killing affects men in different ways" was all Sulu replied before walking away.

Leonard snuck a glance at Mitchell but could not imagine Mitchell was sensitive at all about ending a life.

He decided to think on it no more.

* * *

There is something to be said for surprise attacks—and that is that one should never see them coming.

But they all saw Redjac.

They couldn't _not_ see Redjac, who stood in front of the windmill and watched them return from their jaunt to bathe and send off the dead.

He did nothing when they slowly their pace. He did nothing when Sulu drew his sword with his uninjured hand. He did nothing when Leonard called him vile names and said he deserved the coldest cell in the darkest dungeon for laying a hand upon Spock.

"Well," demanded the prince, "what have you to say for yourself, villain?"

Redjac glanced up to the sky and rocked back on his feet. "I say I am an innocent man."

Leonard was certain he was not the only one gaping at this useless pig-swill. "Innocent! Were you innocent when you handed me over to that swag-bellied scut?"

"Ah, Mudd. I hear his trading activities are being investigated. Yet another misfortune I owe Kirk," Redjac said, eyes glinting.

"You should be grateful to have your life," Leonard said flatly, "although I do not know how you can live with such a despicable self."

"I did appreciate your way with words, friend. Such a shame it's come to this."

Every armed man lifted his weapon in warning but Redjac himself was unarmed, barring his words.

Leonard withheld his remaining questions and accusations, opting to stand aside so that Sulu could decide what to do with their enemy.

"Why is it that you're here?" Sulu asked.

"Yeah," added in Scotty, "'cause you couldn't be dumb enough to come here to _die_."

"I am here because my... mission went array, and that I do not like." Redjac looked at each of them in turn, and Leonard had to wonder what it was he was looking for. "You're missing a man... no, two men."

The prince frowned.

Redjac lifted a finger. "Kirk, obviously. His little pet doesn't count. Is it too much to hope they are dead?"

Leonard clenched his teeth. "Can I punch this ass?"

Chekov offered to hold him.

Redjac lifted a second finger and, this time, smiled at Sulu. "And one of yours. Now that one I _know_is dead."

It was Scotty who leapt forward with a growl. Leonard caught him and forced him out of reach of Redjac.

Sulu stepped closer to him, however. "You killed him."

"I didn't say that."

"By your own admission—"

"Always with the fools," the man sighed. "You're supposed to ask me _how_ I know what I know, friend."

Sulu paled and flushed at the same time. With a sudden clarity, Leonard recognized the implications behind the taunt. It made him think of his stepfather, an honorable man at court and a traitor behind closed doors.

But it was Mitchell's reaction that solidified fact from fiction: with a snarl and against orders, he knocked Redjac to his knees and yanked back the man's head with the clear intention of decapitating the man right there.

"_Gary!_" Sulu bit out in shock.

Leonard came forward, asking too softly, "Why?"

"This trickster means to confuse us!" Mitchell cried at them. "He killed Garrovick!"

Leonard held up a hand to stall a response from the others. "I asked why. So you don't misunderstand my question, I will clarify it: _why_ did you betray us?"

Mitchell stared at him.

"It is because of Jim?" the prince guessed. "Did you intend for Redjac to aid your own revenge by having him kill Kirk for you? So you struck a deal with him and lied to us afterwards?"

"Slander! Sir, that is a foul lie!"

Leonard looked at the man without sympathy. "I suppose you told Redjac he could deal with the rest of us however it pleased him, with the exception that you lived through the skirmish. How... cowardly," he finished, disgusted.

Redjac began to laugh, so much so that he shook from it. For a moment Mitchell appeared unable to decide what to do with Redjac since his betrayal had already been revealed. In the end, he shoved the laughing man aside and went for Leonard, the curl of his lip indicating very clearly what he planned for the prince.

Sulu moved fast for an injured man.

At first Leonard thought Sulu meant to stall Mitchell's violence—but then he saw the droplets of bloods landing on the ground between them. Sulu stepped back, and Mitchell collapsed. He had stabbed him with Chekov's pick-blade, with no warning, no mincing of words, no sound.

As they looked on, Mitchell gave a tiny, shocked croak and died.

"Well done," approved Redjac. "Straight through the heart. I could use a man of your skill." His eyes glittered queerly. "But you wouldn't consider it, would you? You are too much like Kirk."

"It is one thing to rob a man of his wealth but worse yet to rob him of his freedom and his humanity."

"What about robbing a man of his life?" countered the flesh-trader, looking past Sulu to the prince. "What say you on that score, McCoy?"

"I say I'd rather be dead than left to butchers like you."

Redjac lowered his head. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes, to be dead..."

And he lunged from the long blade still in Mitchell's grasp, coming to his feet with a cry.

In that moment as Sulu threw himself forward to block a beheading arc and his weak sword-arm hindered him, Leonard saw what was to happen. Redjac knocked the man backwards and down and moved in swiftly with a violent low thrust, lunging forward with all the weight of his fury behind his arm.

The prince blinked, and then was between them. The steel pierced leather and skin and muscle and drove through his gut. He was nearly jerked off his feet with the force of it.

Sound ceased. Redjac's face hung suspended before him, twisted with raw, ugly hatred and an uglier need to kill. Leonard had never seen the like of it in all his years.

The driven sword moved with his falling weight as he sank to his knees. The crack of them hitting the ground was his first returning sensation.

Desperately, he held himself upright, sitting on his heels, so as not to wrench the sword blade around in his flesh. The hilt and a handspan of bright blade hung below his downward-turning gaze, driven at a crooked upward angle into his stomach just below and to the left of his navel. The point seemed to come out somewhere to the right of his spine, and higher.

He tried to hold very still, but Redjac jerked the sword out with a terrible twisting motion.

Leonard was too disconnected to scream; instead he released a little gasp, like Mitchell had.

_Gut wound,_ he thought. _I will be dead in three days._

Then he started slumping sideways and passed out.


	7. Epilogue

Leonard had no memory between the sword piercing his belly and the strange room he woke in, where light barely touched a tiny, high window carved into a stone wall. At first, so senseless was he, he would wake thinking he had been imprisoned in a lord's dungeon for some grievance he knew nothing of; but a voice was always there to calm him. On occasion it held a different cadence but each time spoke with a similar gentleness that soothed his wild imagining as much as the cold cloth across his brow soothed his fever.

He hurt like there was a brand to his flesh, he tried to tell it, over and over, and he did not want to be alone. He was afraid he was dying.

When his periods of consciousness grew longer and more lucid, he began to recognize his caretakers by face. There were three altogether: women, dressed in long brown habits and white wimples. They took turns sitting with him day and night, perhaps so that someone might know immediately if he died. Two of them would not speak to him directly once he regained his mind; they prayed in low murmurs or read from a small book. The third, and the youngest, would hold his hand as she watched over him.

Her name, he learned, was Christine and she had been given to the Order as a small child.

It felt like forever that his weakness subsided enough to allow the return his voice, but when it did he introduced himself. "I am Leonard."

"Leonard," she tested it. "That is a fine name." Then she thanked him for living: "When you came to us, you were as a man already marked by Death. The Mother said it was likely you would succumb during the night or that following day but I could not understand how God could place you in our hands for safe-keeping yet not allow us to save you. I prayed to Him for His Mercy—and you lived."

Leonard weakly lifted a hand and let it hover over his stomach but could not bring himself to touch the sensitive area. "How... came I to be here?" he asked.

"A man brought you before the crowing hour and begged us to take you in. We are not..." She lowered her eyes a moment before she tried again, "We are not funded as a house for the sick, as it might seem, and thus were ill-prepared. Several of us did argue your cause, though." Her voice went from gentle to softly fierce. "If we can give alms to the poor, could we not give comfort to the dying?"

"Thank you," Leonard rasped.

She patted his hand. "You are tired, dearest Leonard. I see in you that your spirit has endured as much travail as your body. Fear not, you may rest safely here."

Leonard closed his eyes, knowing that he could not disagree.

* * *

Christine gave him what details she could of his arrival, although she admitted she had not been present at the gate as he was carried through it to a sick room. The Mother herself had undressed and cleaned him, then turned him over to the care of the younger acolytes for vigil.

Only one man had accompanied him. He stayed three days at Leonard's bedside, and on the third day after the Mother declared his chances of survival much improved, the unnamed stranger left.

"Mayhap he had news of you to bear," Christine offered, looking as if she worried he would consider himself abandoned.

"Can you describe him to me?" he begged her.

She blushed and nodded. "We spoke not, for he never said a word in my presence, but I can tell you he was a small man, dark of hair and eyes, and older, I believe, then either you or me. Oh, and there was something distinguishing: his right eye. It was covered." Color rose in her face again. "It was a curious thing."

"_Scotty_," Leonard whispered.

His voice hinted at surprise but he could not admit it out loud—nor the disappointment that his savior had not the person he hoped it to be.

* * *

He spent nearly two months recovering in the monastery under the watchful eyes of the nun Christine. The wound, healed over to an angry, twisting puff of skin on his lower stomach and his back, had given him complications at first when he tried to eat, with both blood from his stomach and his bowels. His innards, he had guessed, were not healing as quickly as the skin. He did not take solid food for almost a month and a half. Without his energy he laid in his small bed wishing for time to pass more swiftly.

Christine was intrigued by his knowledge of medicine, and because no one else knew as much as he did, she let him determine his own treatment and aided him in the gathering of the herbs and supplies he requested. It kept his mind occupied, sometimes, to chart out his own progress on a blank scroll.

The pain he was in, of course, they did not speak of. Leonard bore it as best he could but often it turned his temper foul. Christine never stopped coming back to see him, however, one particularly trying day saying that she had secured the Mother's promise to let her become his sole caretaker.

He liked to think they had become friends during his convalescence. Truthfully, at times, he saw a look in her eyes which made him feel as if in accepting her kindness, he took advantage of her. She was innocent, for all that he could see, having grown up sheltered among only women and taught to dedicate herself to God.

Now it was to Leonard whom Christine dedicated herself.

He feared that when he grew strong enough to travel she would not be prepared to part with him.

* * *

The monastery sat at a height far above sea level but the sea was not so distant as the walled-in landscape and wheeling eagles made one believe. Red-roofed and precariously high at the summit, it seemed to have grown directly out of a single pinnacle of mountain rock. The main entrance to the abbey was a stone portal crowned by geometric borders and two grimacing Christian monsters in bas-relief whose lineage might have been bears, bats or griffins, or any impossible thing. Inside lay the tiny abbey church of the patron saint and its wonderfully delicate cloister, hedged in by rosebushes even at such a tremendous altitude.

Today Leonard was at liberty to enjoy all of it. Despite how thin he had grown, the residual weakness and his easy exhaustion, he stole from his room to breathe in freedom and to remind himself that he had lived through the worst experience of his life. He found a place where sunlight splashed onto the flagstones of an open courtyard, and blue sky arched overhead. There came the sound of trickling water, unexpected and lovely, from a fountain around which some of the religious would pace out their morning meditations. Leonard went to the edge of the cloisters and sat down on the low wall there, where he could look out over a drop of several thousand feet and see thin mountain waterfalls, white against a dark forest. At this distance the waterfalls plunged downward in silence, or appeared as mere mist, while the living fountain behind him trickled without pause. As he sat gazing across the gulf, something hung and glinted in the air beneath him: a bird of prey, hunting slowly along the pinnacle walls, no more than a flake of copper to the eye.

He had spent many weeks thinking on past events and re-tracing those ones which had ultimately led him to this place. He had thought of Jim, from the first easy grin to the sorrow in his face when they parted. He had also thought of Jim's man, Spock, who remained a conundrum for being so hopelessly loyal to someone that may have at one time kept him enslaved.

And what did Leonard consider himself in that regard? Why had he no more hatred for the men who took him from his rich and simple life?

Even now he had no answers to his questions. He only knew his hard feelings were gone, as though Redjac's sword had freed him of them at the same moment it had speared him.

Or maybe he had freed himself by choosing a side.

In all honesty he did not know.

He left the low wall and visited the other cloisters, the chapels, nave, and a wind-worn kitchen building. Wherever he happened upon a group of nuns talking amongst themselves or in the middle of prayer, he made certain to turn in a different direction, to retain his privacy as well as respect theirs. He did not know anyone in the abbey except Christine (and the Mother—a stern, aging woman—who had visited him twice to ascertain his good health), and he had the feeling he should stay the invisible stranger.

Christine found him late in the evening by the supper hall, studying a relief of a winged lion bearing an open book surrounded by angels who looked upon the lion and book with rapture. She did not speak his given name in public, and he could not falter her for her cautiousness. When she inquired if he preferred to dine with some of the abbey's guests, he only shook his head. They walked in silence to his room.

There he stopped her entering and told her he was leaving soon.

The nun looked at him with a wide-eyed graveness that he had not seen from her before.

"This... is not my home," he explained, "and your Mother's tolerance for me grows thin—rightfully so. A man is a disturbance here."

"But you are _Leonard_," she argued in a low tone, "not just any man."

He was fond of this woman, but not so fond as she likely wished him to be. "Christine," he said gently, "my life is beyond this abbey." He bit his lip, adding, "And not, I think, with God."

Christine lifted a hand, then, like she wished to touch him. In the end she did not, tucking both hands out of sight in her sleeves and lowering her eyes.

"I am sorry, milady. You have been more than kind to me. You have been a friend."

"I understand."

Leonard lowered his eyes too in the face of her disappointment. He stepped backwards into his room and closed its wooden door as gently as he could.

After a moment he heard from the other side, "Fare thee well on thee's journey." Then no more.

* * *

They provisioned him with a horse, new clothes, and a few coins. It surprised Leonard when the entire congregation came to the entrance of the abbey to send him off. They all stood silent and staring, a sea of impassive faces, as he mounted. Then the Mother came forward.

"God has given you a second chance at life, Goodman," she said. "If you are thankful, live with only goodwill in your heart. No man is closer to our Lord and Savior than he who embodies compassion and piety."

"I will heed your words," he promised and turned the horse toward the steep mountain road. He was nearly to the gate when he heard, "_Wait!_"

Heedless of propriety, Christine came towards him in swift fashion, her habit hitched up nearly to the ankles as she ran. "Leonard," she cried, "I must tell you something!"

He waited for her and covered her hand with his own when she laid it against the saddle.

"I meant to tell you," she said, almost crying. "I meant to! But then—"

"Tell me now," he said, "and it will be as if no time has passed."

She gave him a look of gratitude. Then she told him.

Leonard sat back. "He returned?"

The nun nodded. "Some weeks ago, though I only heard of it recently from a Sister. He was with two other men, and he asked if you yet lived. Then they argued among themselves."

"What else?" Leonard questioned, staring at her.

"They left shortly thereafter. I am sorry, Leonard. I am so sorry that I did not want to tell you!"

Leonard grabbed her hand and kissed her knuckles, saying, "Thank you, milady."

She retrieved her hand and curled it against her chest. The smile she gave him was beautiful. "I won't forget you," Christine promised him.

"Nor I you," he promised back, and spurred his horse through the gate.

* * *

"I bid thee welcome!" cried an cheery innskeeper, coming out to the inn's courtyard to greet a travel-weary Leonard.

Leonard nodded in turn and dismounted. He let a stable boy take the horse away.

"What brings you so far south?" asked the man. "Are you going to the sea?"

"I have enjoyed a long respite not far from here. As it stands, I travel north now on business."

"Ah. You'll be with us only a night, then?"

"Yes," agreed Leonard. "Might you have something for supper... or some ale?"

"Both, of course!"

"Excellent, thank you." Leonard took a seat at a table, though it mattered not where he sat because the common room was empty.

The innskeeper brought him back a tankard of a sweet brew.

Leonard dutifully tried it and complimented its taste. Then he said, "How many inns are on this road?"

"At this fork? None but mine," replied the man with pride. "Why do you ask?"

Leonard put down his drink and faced the man with a thin smile. "I am looking for news, mayhap as long past as a fortnight."

The man lifted his eyebrows and made a motion of _go on_.

"Have you heard word of bandits in this area?"

He gasped and crossed himself. "Surely not here!"

Leonard dipped his head slightly. "Then tell me," he said, leaning forward on his elbows, "have you come across the name Jim Kirk or of a companion with him called Spock?"

"I cannot say that I have. But why are you looking for such men? They sound like trouble!"

"Oh, they are," agreed the prince, smiling in earnest now. "They are _my_ trouble, and that is why I must find them."

The innskeeper only looked at Leonard as if he might be mad, and Leonard laughed a little, shook his head, and drank.

**The End**


End file.
